


Etre

by AJRedfern



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-04
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-04-30 00:24:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 46,391
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5143526
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AJRedfern/pseuds/AJRedfern
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They're the loudest unspoken secret in Camp Jaha. </p><p>It still takes them almost 10 years to be.</p><p>*Defining moments from multiple POVs*</p><p>(AU after 2x08)</p><p>
  <b>*CURRENTLY UNDER EDIT* Sorry guys, I'm finally getting down to reviewing Etre and will be editing the later chapters. I've started with Chap 3 so it's currently down for the moment. I'm so sorry but trust me, this is needed.* </b>
</p>
<p>
  <b></b>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Mercy in All Her Forms (Bellamy)

**Author's Note:**

> My first fanfic - please, be gentle :)
> 
> Sloooowwww burn

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He held her until he felt like he was the only thing keeping her body together as grief threatened to tear her apart.

After the past year and a half, Bellamy Blake thought there were very few things that could render him shocked.

Watching Finn Collins die under the hand of Clarke Griffin was one of them.

In perspective, he thought numbly, he should have suspected the moment he realised Lexa was not going to let Finn go.

The world had taken on a weird grayness, the Grounders' torches had faded to a dim glow, there was a rushing in his ears that turned every other sound into a low buzz and everything seemed to move in slow motion.

His eyes were fixed on the blonde girl in the distance, walking back to the camp, alone, the Grounders giving her a wide berth. In his arms, he barely heard Raven's cries or felt her body wreaking with sobs. He pushed them upwards, ignoring Raven's struggles, concentrating on getting his feet under him on ground that seemed to had doubled its gravity pull in the last 20 seconds.

Clarke was at the gate now.

He watched as the guards closed the gates behind her, moving like they were underwater. She stood stock still for a moment, everyone's eyes on her, pale and trembling, hands and clothing stained with Finn's blood.

She was still holding the knife.

Her eyes moved to his and he didn’t know what she read in his before - _snap_ \- the world regained speed and sound rushed into his ears, making him blink.

The crowd that had gathered were whispering and murmuring as they watched the girl who had killed one of their own.

'Murderer.'

Raven.

Shit.

He watched Clarke flinch hard and she took a step back. He tore his eyes away from her and focused on the girl who was now straining against his hold.

_Control the situation._

'Raven.' He said softly, 'It's done.'

She whirled to look at him, anguish and rage written on every line of her tear stained face.

'That's all you have to say?' she spat at him. 'She killed Finn! He trusted her and she killed him.' She turned to look at Clarke again. 'You killed him.'

'Raven.' Clarke whispered hoarsely, tears now sliding down her face, 'I'm so sorry.'

'No.' The other girl shook her head.

He could feel her muscles tensing under his hold and tightened his arms in reflex just as she near exploded out of them. Cursing he grabbed her arm and yanked her back, dragging her away from Clarke as Raven yelled and thrashed.

'You died tonight, do you understand me, Clarke?' she screamed at Clarke's frozen figure. 'You're dead to me!'

With one hand wrapped around Raven's arm, Bellamy snagged a medic by the collar, dragging him along with Raven.

'Tranq.' He clipped at the medic, whose wide eyes were fixed on the screaming girl.

Bellamy shook him roughly.

'Now.' He snarled.

The medic tore his gaze away and looked at Bellamy, gulping and nodding at him. He took off at a run towards the medical bay.

No one had moved and Bellamy swore as Raven clipped him behind the ear. He grabbed her arm and pulled her towards the medical bay, stopping only to talk to a Murphy who looked like he had been the one at the receiving end of Raven's fist.

'She,' he muttered, jerking his head in Clarke's direction, 'does not leave your sight, you hear me?'

Murphy's eyes snapped to Clarke and back to his.

'I hear you.' he said quietly.

Bellamy continued with Raven who was now sobbing incoherently. Without his volition, he looked back once over his shoulder just as he reached the medical bay.

Clarke was now being hugged by Abby but her eyes were trained on the writhing girl he was holding. Even from this distance, he could see that something had broken in Clarke. It was written in the careful blankness in her face, the stiff lines of her body, the way her arms hung limply by her side as her mother held her. The bloody knife she held clenched in her fingers. What innocence she might have retained was gone, torn from her the moment she slipped that knife between Finn's ribs. Destroyed in the seconds it took for the man she loved to bleed out in her arms from her death blow.

That knowledge twisted something painfully in his chest and for a beat, his heart stuttered.

The hardest part of the night wasn’t over yet.

Fuck. 

***

Twenty minutes later, Bellamy was walking down the dimly lit corridor that led to Clarke's room.

There was a night where he, Murphy and Finn - _fuck, Finn_ \- had gone hours at a run in the freezing cold rain through a forest, at night, Grounders on their track. At points throughout that night, each one of them had staggered to their knees, throwing up the little they had in their stomachs, getting up only because the other two had clamped hands around his arms and dragged him along. By the time they had lost the Grounders, Bellamy had been so exhausted, he couldn’t feel his screaming muscles and he could barely see past the lights that were dancing in front of his eyes.

How he felt tonight surpassed even that.

He knocked softly on her door and Murphy cracked the door open. He slipped in and closed the door behind him, looking around the room. Murphy nodded at the bathroom, the door was just open enough for Bellamy to see the tips of Clarke's boots.

'She wouldn't let me get near her.' Murphy muttered. 'Thinkin' you and Abby are the only ones who can get through to her now.'

'You can call off your guard dog now, Bellamy.' Clarke called from the bathroom.

Her voice sounded…off. He couldn’t put his finger on it but something about it raised the hairs on the back of his neck.

Bellamy nodded at Murphy who gave him a two fingered salute, slipping quietly out of the room.

Bellamy walked towards the bathroom and taking a deep breath, pushed it open slowly. From her seat on the floor, Clarke looked up at him wearily. She hadn't showered or changed and was still -

'Jesus, Clarke.' he muttered, realising that she was still holding that fucking knife with bloody hands.

He walked fully into the tiny room and, seeing the way Clarke's eyes followed him dully, crouched carefully down in front of her.

In the harsh industrial lighting, Clarke's face seemed cold, stiff, covered in tear tracks, smoke and blood but completely devoid of any emotion. The overall effect just seemed wrong.

'Let's get you cleaned up, yeah?' he said softly, not touching her for fear of spooking her.

'Why?' Clarke asked, almost curiously.

This was not good.

Fucking hell.

'Clarke,' he tried again, 'come on, you need to get washed up.'

'Why bother?' she asked, seeming genuinely puzzled. 'Raven was right. He trusted me and I killed him. No amount of water and soap is going to get his blood off my hands.'

'We both have blood on our hands, Clarke. ' he replied gently, 'Blood of the people we killed to protect the ones we care about. Blood of people who trusted us to protect them and we couldn’t. We have both failed people who deserved more than our best, princess.'

She watched him with those eyes, the cobalt burning and stark against her face, white under all the blood and grime.

'Don't call me that.' she said dully, 'He called me that while he bled out onto my fingers.'

He wished he knew what to say to her, what to do. If she had been crying, screaming and railing at him, he would have known more how to handle this. Clarke was spirit, passion and a fire hot enough to cleanse. She was not this…shadow. And that scared Bellamy more than anything else. Anger swiftly followed that fear and disregarding all his plans to make it easy on her, he went with instinct and leaned in close to her.

'Raven was right.' he said quietly and watched as pain flashed behind her eyes.

Finally.

'Finn trusted you.' he continued, ignoring the wounded sound she made. 'You killed him.'

When she tried to look away, his hand whipped out and his fingers grasped her chin, forcing her gaze back to his.

'That was the right choice, Clarke, the choice Finn trusted you to make. Try to save him and the Grounders would have taken you both out and attacked the camp anyway. Let Abby declare war and they would have wiped out everyone here. Stay behind the gates and Finn would have been tortured until he wished he was dead. He trusted you to make the right choice and you did. You killed him.'

Tears overflowed and dripped onto his fingers where they held her chin, warm drops against the brown of his skin.

He gentled his voice, 'And if I am ever the one tied to the stake, that is the choice you need to make.'

Clarke's mouth opened before she tore away from his hold and scrambled to her feet, the knife clattering to the floor.

He looked up at her, still in a crouch, and she stared back down at him, her chest moving rapidly as she breathed hard. There was rage and disbelief and so much fucking grief in her eyes that his heart stuttered again but he held her gaze. There was no more coldness left. There she was, his Clarke.

'You cannot seriously be asking that of me right now.' she snapped.

He rose to his full height. Jesus, because of the force she was, he sometimes forgot he was almost a head taller than her.

'I'm not asking, Clarke,' he snapped back, 'it's what I expect of you.'

'You are unbelievable sometimes.' she whispered.

He took a step closer until they were almost nose to nose. 'One of these days, it might either of us at that stake. Put yourself in that position, Clarke. When you're terrified out of your mind, surrounded by enemies, and all you want to do run.'

'Stop it.'

He didn't.

'When you know everyone you love is watching and knowing there isn't shit they can do to save you.' He grasped her arms and leaned in, whispering, 'Tell me, if it was you tied to that stake and I had a knife - a gun - what would you want me to do? To save you from torture, to save everyone who love you the pain of watching you go through that, if I had an opening, what would you need me to do?'

Her eyes closed and her hands came up to grasp his arms as she swayed.

'Take the shot.' she whispered back.

Bellamy looked down at her, her eyes closed, head tilted back, blood on her throat, gold hair streaming over her shoulders. Her body was warm under his fingers where he held her arms, her fingers were cold on his skin where they splayed under his forearms and his chest _burned._

'Don't condemn me for what I need.' he said hoarsely but suddenly he didn’t know exactly what he was referring to.

Her eyes opened and locked on his.

'Take the shot.' she repeated, this time her voice strong and firm.

Bellamy nodded, worry for her, grief for Finn, anger at how fucked up their lives were and that weird burn in his chest all warring within him.

And he came to a realisation. In her head, the cold, clinical part of her that made her a leader, Clarke knew what she did was right. But until someone else believed that, her soul, the part that made her a great leader, would never begin to forgive her actions. Because even she didn’t truly believe that the choice she made was the right one.

He moved his hands up to cup her face. 'I know that you're hurting.' he said to her softly, ' I can't imagine how much pain you're in right now because this situation is fucked up to the extreme. But you are stronger than this and you will be okay.' He dropped his head and rested his forehead on hers.

'You sound so sure of yourself.' she whispered, voice hitching and somehow her hands had ended up fisting in his shirt.

'I am.' He murmured. 'Because I need you. If you want to cry, I'm here. If you want to hit something, I can be that too. Whatever you need to help you, Clarke, I can be that for you. Whatever you need.' He pulled back and the way she looked at him made that weird burn in his chest flare dangerously. 'But don't you go cold. Don't hide your anger under that cold because you'll lose yourself. I'll lose you. So you're going to be okay, you'll get there little by little, because you might give up on yourself sometimes, but you will never give up on someone who needs you. And I need you. To handle this world, I need you and I can't do any of this without you. So don't give up on me, princess.'

She closed her eyes and drew in a shuddering breath. His thumb gently swept across her cheekbones and she opened her eyes to look at him again. This time, there was a determined light in her eyes.

'Yeah?' he asked softly.

Another shuddering breath.

Then she nodded and -

'Yeah.'

Slowly, gently, he led her to the sink. She stood there quietly as he washed Finn's blood from her hands. When he wiped the remaining red off Clarke's face with a wet rag, there was a dampness on her cheeks wasn’t just from the rag.

He didn’t say anything about it, she already knew.

When he left her to shower, Bellamy sat outside of the bathroom, leaning against the door, feeling older than he had a right to be. And soon the soft sound of sobbing joined the sound of water. He let her cry, let her mourn in private before he did what his instincts was screaming at him to do the moment he heard.

He rose to his feet, opened the door and walked in. He didn't stop until he was looking at her curled up against the shower wall, knees to her chest, head on her knees, hair darkened by the water beating down on her, shoulders shaking.He stepped into the tiny cubicle, fully clothed and ignoring the water spray and her nakedness, he sank to his knees beside her and gathered her into his arms.

Without hesitation, Clarke turned to him, burying her face in his now soaked shirt. Something about that, about the way she clung to him, giving up control to him and trusting him enough to see her through this storm had him praying to every deity out there that he didn’t fuck up.

Bellamy shifted them both until he was sitting on the tiled floor, back against the wall, Clarke in his lap. When her hand fisted in his shirt and she pulled him closer, Bellamy tightened his hold on her. He couldn’t get any closer to her than he already was but maybe the ache of a tight hold might distract her from what she was feeling inside. He held Clarke as she mourned, held her as her tears fell hot into the hollow of his neck, held her until he felt like he was the only thing keeping her body together as grief threatened to tear her apart, held her until the sounds that came from her ruined throat were just hoarse whimpers.

And as he held her, Clarke held him. Held him tight as he grieved for a friend he could have loved better but didn’t until it was too late, held him as he grieved for a girl, drugged into submission, on the other side of the camp and for the girl he now held in his arms. Clarke knew that the warm salty drops that trickled onto her lips weren't only from her tears.

She didn’t say anything about them, he already knew.

They didn’t speak.

They didn’t need to.


	2. Inner Circle (Abby)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A team like that, two separate entities moving as one, was an extremely valuable asset. Efficient. Strong. Dangerous.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dedicated to all the beautiful and amazing people who took the time to press that kudos button or to leave a comment on the first chapter - and to everyone who commented: thank you, your lovely words of encouragement mean the world and are exactly what I needed.
> 
> *Disclaimer: Characters not mine. If they were, I would be rolling in it and waving my Bellarke flag!

When she watched her daughter drop to Earth with 99 more teenagers, Abby Griffin knew, deep in her gut, that she would see Clarke again.

She was right.

She also knew that Clarke would have changed in the time between the drop and their reunion.

She was also right.

So right in fact, that she was trying to ignore just how correct her instinct had been.

She always knew her daughter was strong, under all her gentleness, always knew that she was a natural leader, always knew that she was a fighter. It was a mother's instinct. And the first time she looked - really looked - into her daughter's eyes since she set foot on Earth, that instinct told Abby that Clarke was a long way away from the girl who had clung to her tearfully. She tried to ignore it, tried to cling to the Clarke who needed her mother, but sometimes, like now, as she watched Clarke calmly demonstrate how to reload a rifle to a group of people, that fact was hard to ignore.

'Penny for your thoughts?' A wry voice cut into her musings and she glanced at Marcus Kane over her shoulder.

'Sometimes I wonder if I did the right thing in sending her down here with the rest.' Abby murmured, turning back to watch Clarke.

Kane stepped up beside her. 'If you hadn't, so many of the First Drop wouldn’t have survived.'

'True.' Abby conceded. 'But in doing so, I might have lost the daughter I always knew. She's changed so much, Kane. She hasn’t looked at me for direction once since she's been here.' She smiled wistfully. 'There was a time when she couldn’t take a step without looking to me. Now,' she laughed without much humour, 'Clarke spends more time butting heads with me than anything else.' She gave Kane a rueful glance. 'Makes you feel old when you realise your child doesn’t depend on you anymore.'

'She does.' Kane remarked. 'Just not in the same way she did back on the Ark.' he paused tentatively, 'It's not necessarily a bad thing, Abby.'

'So many people here look to her, Kane.' she quietly replied. 'Who does she look to?'

She saw him turn to her to reply but suddenly, there was a shout and a commotion broke out near the west gate, a crowd already gathering. Conversation forgotten, Abby and Kane broke into a run.

She didn't know what to expect. The commotion could be anything from a Mountain Man sighting to an Arker/Grounder brawl. After Finn's death, Abby, at Kane's insistence, had finally agreed sanction a rescue mission. Not that she had much choice - Clarke, backed by Bellamy Blake, was going to try and talk Lexa into joining forces regardless of the Chancellor's approval. The Grounder Commander had agreed to the peace talks and Abby had conceded reluctantly in an attempt to defuse the ridiculously taut levels of tension between the Council, Camp Jaha's official leaders, and Clarke and Bellamy, her unofficial ones, the Arkers and the Grounders, and herself and her daughter.

She and Kane reached the site and began pushing past people in the crowd to get to the centre. In the middle of the open space, two teenagers were wrestling viciously, the wet sound of fist pounding into flesh and grunts loud above the buzzing of the onlookers. No one obviously wanted to touch them and risk getting hit. Abby reached up to push her way towards them when Kane grabbed her arm, nodding to his left. She followed his gaze to see a dark head above the others, shoving his way through the throng, moving fast.

Bellamy Blake.

Somehow Abby wasn’t surprised.

He broke out of the circle, gun strapped to his back, jaw set, dark eyes snapping, and strode towards the tussling boys.

'Hey!' his voice cracked into the air and the circle of watchers moved a step back at the sound. 'Break it up!'

The boys ignored him.

Bellamy reached the teenagers and wrenched one off the other. When the blond boy came back swinging, Bellamy evaded the blow easily and drove a fist into his belly. The blond bent double, breath leaving his body in a gasp, clutching his stomach. Bellamy dismissed him with a glance and his arm shot out to grab the other one on the ground by the shirt, dragging him up to his feet.

Abby felt Kane stiffen beside her and she placed a restraining hand on his arm. Bellamy Blake was a constant at Clarke's side. She needed to know more about him.

But Bellamy didn’t do anything further than wrap a hand around the boy's collar and wrenching him closer until they were almost nose to nose.

'You done, Archer?' he snarled.

Archer glared venomously at the blond still clutching his stomach and nodded reluctantly, wiping at his bleeding nose with his sleeve.

Then Clarke was there, coolly checking the boys for injuries, murmuring instructions, pressing her nicked fingers into flesh, her sharp eyes gauging reactions. Abby watched her and couldn’t stop a surge of pride. When Clarke reached the blond, she threw Bellamy a quelling look which he met with an arched brow, but didn’t say anything. When she was satisfied that there wasn’t any real damage, she took a step back and stared at the two boys.

'You want to tell me what the hell is going on here?' she asked through thin lips. 'Archer?' She looked at the blond who had straightened but still had a hand pressed to his stomach . 'Mike?'

Both boys looked at her mutinously but didn’t answer. Then they both ducked their heads quickly when a growl came from Bellamy standing behind them.

'If you don't answer to Clarke,' Bellamy snarled, 'you answer to me. You know the drill.'

Abby didn’t know whether to be impressed or worried when both teenagers turned to face Clarke fully and starting talking at the same time. Their voices got louder until they were almost yelling, pointing at each other. Clarke watched them impassively then ignored them, glancing over their heads at Bellamy.

She arched a brow at him, the ' _Really?_ ' implied in her expression.

Bellamy shrugged a broad shoulder. _They picked you_ , he seemed to reply.

Clarke rolled her eyes. _Whatever_.

Both boys' voices died down when they realised Clarke wasn't really listening to them but waiting.

'You two done?' Clarke asked tiredly. At their nods, she jerked her chin at Mike. 'You first.'

Mike launched into details, Clarke's eyes getting narrower the more he went on. Abby didn't blame her as she began to understand what had caused the fight. At one point, Archer shifted as if to interrupt and thought better of it when Bellamy clamped a hand around back of his neck and growled softly, 'You'll get your chance.'

When both boys had had their say, Clarke had folded her arms across her chest, brows lifted and Bellamy was standing, hands on hips, dark head bent, focused on the ground.

'So, basically,' Clarke began, slowly, 'this is because of a girl?'

'You've got to be kidding me.' Bellamy muttered to the ground.

Both boys glanced at each other and then nodded. Clarke took a deep breath and Abby got the sense that she was trying to handle this carefully.

'She was in my tent first!' Archer burst out.

'Bullshit! She was in mine first!' Mike snapped. 'And because of your bitching, she's with Shawn now!'

Clarke's eyes narrowed. 'Wait, what?' she barked. 'Is that what this is really about?'

Both boys froze and, as if suddenly realising something had changed, looked down.

'You mean to tell me,' Clarke started to say, disbelief heavy in her voice, 'that we are on the brink of war, and you two are bickering over _tent privileges_?'

The boys remained silent.

Clarke let out an angry breath and threw Bellamy an exasperated look.

He jerked his chin up at her.

She glared at him.

The corner of his mouth tipped up.

And through all this, Abby watched her daughter hold an entire conversation with a male, more man than boy, without saying a single word.

'Alright.' Clarke finally said, thumb and finger pinching the bridge of her nose, 'You two. First, it goes without saying that if you're fighting each other, you're just doing the Mountain Men's work for them. Focus on the bigger picture, boys. Second, it also goes without saying that if we reacted to everything with violence, we're - '

'Is this a fucking countdown?' Archer muttered mulishly.

'Third, watch your fucking mouth.' Bellamy snapped, making both boys flinch.

'Guys.' Clarke called their attention back to her, 'There are better ways to deal with this than trying to beat your friend into a pulp. And there are better things to fight for.' She looked at them levelly. 'Are either of you in love with Selene?'

Abby almost laughed at the panicked look on both boys' faces and the twin fervent negative headshakes.

'And yet, ' Clarke put her hands on her hips, 'you're willing to do that,' she gestured at the facial features beginning to swell, the torn and dusty clothes, 'to each other? Really guys? I've seen you two bleed for one another.'

Mike and Archer shifted uncomfortably.

'You two done or you still want to give killing each other a go?' Clarke asked quietly.

The boys glanced at each other and Mike gave a stiff nod.

'We're done.' Archer said, rubbing the back of his neck almost sheepishly. 'Sorry, Clarke.'

Bellamy shook his head and moved between the boys to flank Clarke on her left. Her lesser dominant side, Abby realised with a jolt.

She didn’t know how to take that.

'So.' Clarke said to the boys who were now looking at her warily. They've obviously done this before. 'Seven extra hours this week .' The set look on her face quelled any protests. 'Bellamy?'

'Medical and Clean Up could both do with the extra help. So would the Kitchen.' Bellamy replied, and after a considering look at boys, continued, 'And Raven's been muttering about needing to train wrench monkeys.'

Both boys winched.

Clarke nodded at him, a smirk almost making it to her lips. She looked back at the boys. 'Divvy up your times and the sections. But Raven gets both of you - talk to her first. If you boys can't agree on a schedule by nightfall, we add another week's worth of shifts. There's plenty of work to be done around the camp.' She paused and tilted her head to the side. 'Do we need to babysit you?'

Both boys shook their heads, almost insulted looks on their faces, and Abby bit back a smile.

'Good.' Clarke nodded. 'We're done here then.'

The boys shuffled off and the crowd slowly dispersed.

There was a change now in the way the people of the second drop looked at Bellamy and Clarke. There had always been curiosity in the furtive looks before this, sometimes distrust. Everyone on the Council knew Bellamy and Clarke had basically led the First Drop but it was the first time any of the Second Drop had seen a glimpse of the extent of their sway over the teenaged delinquents. Now, Abby could also see wariness and respect for the two on the passing faces of the Arkers.

'We have people being bled dry and those two idiots are comparing the size of their dicks.' Bellamy's voice, while low, still carried on the wind to where Abby was standing with Kane, 'Oldest fucking trope ever. Remind me again why I let you talk me into breaking up these fights?'

'Because we had a camp infested with hormonal teenagers.' Clarke replied absently, her back still turned to him, eyes on Archer and Brian. 'Everyone would have been dead within a week.'

'Still would have been more fun.' he muttered.

Clarke rolled her eyes. 'Of course you would think so.'

Then her eyes narrowed and she whirled to face Bellamy. Abby noticed he didn't move away, his jaw automatically tilting back to avoid Clarke's hair whipping him across the face. How many times, she wondered, have they stood like that to make his motion look so natural? There was a sudden drop in her stomach.

'Did you really have to hit Mike that hard?' Clarke hissed, slapping Bellamy's chest. ' I wade through the crowd to stop a fight and the first thing I see is you brawling with Mike - he looked like he was going to throw up his lunch!'

'Would you rather I gave him a tap and got a fist on the jaw for my restraint, princess?'

Clarke, obviously used to his sarcasm, huffed. 'Oh, and by the way,' she arched a brow at him, 'yelling at someone for swearing loses it's effect if you're swearing yourself.'

'The irony amuses me.' Bellamy smirked.

'Evidently.' Clarke muttered.

She glanced over her shoulder at Mike and Archer who were now huddled together in the distance, heads bent, probably trying to figure out the best way to divide up their punishment times.

'At least they're not trying to kill each other anymore.' she murmured.

'Day's still young.' Bellamy countered, smirking at Clarke's glare.

Watching them like this, Abby imagined it might be hard to believe that these were the same unyielding two who stood in the middle of a crowd and handled a situation that no one else wanted to touch. But somehow the light bickering between Clarke and Bellamy just cemented what Abby had just seen. They made a good team, effective, backing each other up, exchanging glances like words. They had no need for expressed directions.

A team like that, two separate entities moving as one, was an extremely valuable asset. Efficient. Strong. Dangerous.

Abby would have been more impressed if her daughter hadn't been one half of that team. With realisation dawning on her, worry preceded pride and Abby reassessed what she knew of Bellamy Blake.

He was, Abby knew, once a Cadet, he was touted as smart and hardworking. His paperwork said he had the potential to rise through the ranks in record time. Then he was demoted to a janitor, his sister was thrown into the Sky Box and Bellamy shot the Chancellor for a chance to risk death to follow Octavia Blake to an unknown, possibly lethal, planet. Whispers of torture followed him, murmurs of the lengths he had gone to before the rest of the Arkers arrived. His paperwork should have described him as focused and dangerous instead.

Abby had seen the way he flanked Clarke, seen the way he instinctively moved around her and yet, knowing what she did, Abby's relief that Clarke had someone like Bellamy Blake at her back could not outweigh her worry at the extent to which her daughter would follow this man.

Then Bellamy reached back and swung his rifle around, long tanned fingers checking the weapon expertly, almost absently. 'I've got to get back. ' he told Clarke, 'My shift starts soon - I'm on patrol duty for the next two hours.'

Clarke nodded, 'Go. I've got this.' Then she smiled, wryly, 'We've come a long way from,' her voice dramatically dropped several octaves, '" _Whatever the hell we want_ ".'

At that, Bellamy's head reared back in a laugh. A laugh loud enough to garner a few curious looks and infectious enough that Abby felt a smile tugging at her own lips. It was the first time she had ever seen Bellamy Blake laugh and it transformed the scowling, snarling male she was used to. His dark eyes danced where they once snapped and his wide mouth was set in a grin where it had been in a smirk not minutes before.

'That was a low blow, Clarke.' Bellamy laughed, 'And I do not sound like that.'

'Low but true.' Clarke shot back but she was smiling, 'And yes, you do.'

As Abby watched them, she was suddenly reminded just how young Bellamy Blake really was. With humour gentling his raw-boned face, he could have been any attractive young man - a tall, messy haired male, built with lean lines and broad shoulders, deeply tanned by the sun and genetics, good strong features and a deep, infectious laugh. Then she looked at her daughter, her strong, beautiful Clarke, with golden hair spilling down her back, her soft gun-metal coloured eyes fixed on Bellamy with affection, her first smile since Finn's death and looking more carefree than she had since she first landed on Earth. And with a jolt, Abby began to wonder what exactly she was looking at.

Friendship. No, she dismissed the thought almost at once, it was more than that. It wasn’t romantic between them - and if it was, she could tell that Bellamy and Clarke were certainly not aware of it. But the underlying tension in their relationship was too dark, their chemistry too raw to be platonic. Partnership then. And yet, there was a very strong foundation - real affection, real trust, real love - for a relationship beyond what they chose now. The dynamic shifting between Clarke and Bellamy was a very real possibility, Abby realised. And she didn't know how she felt about it.

Then she looked at the rifle Bellamy casually held, at the healing cuts on Clarke's face and thought _Lord, what have we done, putting weapons in our children's hands and bruises on their faces?_

Beside Abby, Kane shifted.

'They make quite the pair.' he murmured.

Abby, her mind in chaos, didn't reply and just watched as Bellamy stepped away from Clarke, still grinning.

'Find me after your shift ends,' Clarke called after him, crossing her arms over her chest and eyeing him critically, 'Don't think I didn’t notice you favouring your right arm again.'

'Perfect, that's right before dinner.' Bellamy turned to give Clarke a teasing salute. Then his voice gentled and lowered, 'Don't think I didn’t notice you haven't been eating properly lately.'

Clarke's mouth opened then thought better of it, choosing to give Bellamy a nod instead.

The metal on the buckle of Bellamy's gun strap caught the sun, momentarily blinding Abby, and for a heartbeat, it wasn’t Clarke and Bellamy she saw but herself and Kane, 25 years ago, young and full of dreams. Except she didn’t have the same wariness in Clarke's eyes at her age, Kane never had the dark edge that radiated off Bellamy and their dreams hadn't recognised the smell of smoke and weight of lives yet.

Clarke gave Bellamy a wave and began walking towards the Station and Bellamy had turned around fully, coming to a stop when he realised Abby and Kane's eyes were on him. Any lightness that he had during his exchange with Clarke drained from his face and Abby could almost see the shutters coming down. He gave them a stiff nod.

'Chancellor. Sir.'

Abby wondered how he could convey such wariness with two words.

'You and Clarke handled that situation well.' Kane remarked before she could say anything.

The younger man's widened slightly in surprise before they went to her, brows lifting when she didn’t object to Kane's statement. Then Bellamy gave them a slow nod.

'Right.' he muttered, before jerking his chin at the gates. 'I have to be somewhere.'

Abby nodded and he was gone, moving past them quickly. She and Kane turned to watch him walk towards his post, long fluid strides eating up the distance, head turned to scan the tree line already.

'He's not quite what I expected.' Kane murmured. ' Although, to be fair, this is what I should have expected from the Guard's best Cadet in over a decade.'

Abby didn’t reply.

***

A week later, Abby found herself, once again Kane at her side, sitting by a fire in a Grounder village.

She shivered as the day's events flashed in her mind. The peace talks turning bad, Raven tied to the stake, Clarke solving one part of the mystery, Bellamy solving the other and Gustus's brutal, painful death at the hands of the Grounders and his Commander.

Dark had fallen, the treaty had been agreed and now Abby, was yet again, watching her daughter from a distance. This time, Clarke was in conversation with the Commander and by Clarke's body language, there was nothing light about her conversation with Lexa.

Then the squawk of a radio cut through the quietness of the night like a knife and Raven emerged from the darkness, limping towards three dark figures huddling around a fire, waving a radio in her hand.

'Abby.' Kane said, realising at the same time she did what the voice on the recorded message was saying.

She stood, Kane coming up with her, and they moved closer to the figures around the fire. Clarke had now joined the huddle, snatches of what they were saying reaching her. From her position, Abby could see that her daughter had locked eyes with Bellamy.

'We need to do this now.' came Bellamy's low rumble, 'We've got the alliance, now is the time to use it.'

Clarke remained silent, seeming to read more into what he was saying than what Abby had heard. Her daughter wasn't wrong when -

'But first, we need an inside man.'

'No.' Clarke's response came before Bellamy managed to get the last word out.

'Clarke -'

'I said no, Bellamy.'

'Clarke, hear him out.' Raven injected, glancing between them.

'She doesn't need to.' Bellamy ground out, never looking away from Clarke, 'She knows all the reasons why we need an inside man. She already knows I'm right.'

'I also know how dangerous it is.' Clarke shot back.

Then Abby watches as another figure stepped into the firelight beside Clarke.

Lexa.

'Let him go, Clarke.' the Commander said gently. 'His bravery honours you.'

For the first time, Clarke breaks eye contact with Bellamy as she turns to look at the other woman.

'No.' she snaps. 'I'm sorry, Lexa, but I can't lead like you. I can't be you. And Bellamy,' she lifted an arm to point at him, 'will not become Gustus. I will _not_ give him up!'

Abby hears the thread of desperation that enters her daughter's raised voice and her heart clenched.

'You're not giving me up.' Bellamy said quietly, making Clarke turn back to him. 'And you won't lose me too.'

Everyone had fallen silent, watching the storm brewing in front of them. For a minute, the only sounds Abby could hear was the fire snapping and the recorded voice. The firelight cast dappled shadows across the group's tense faces.

'You can't promise me that.' Clarke replied, just as quietly.

'No, I can't.' Bellamy conceded gently. 'But you know who I can promise we'll lose? Jasper. Monty. Miller. Fox - everyone we have in that mountain.' He looked away when Clarke flinched, then took a deep breath. 'Look, I'm not crazy about the idea, okay? But this is the best chance we have, Clarke. Without someone on the inside to lower their defences, turn off the acid fog, an army's useless. It's worth the risk.'

Clarke drew in a shuddering breath, and Abby saw terror, worry and grief flashing across her face in a myriad of emotions.

'I'm needed here.' she finally said through pale lips.

Horror gripped her throat when Abby realised that if that had not been true, nothing else would have stopped Clarke from joining Bellamy's suicide mission. She had been right - her daughter would have followed this man into the bowels of hell.

'I know.' Bellamy nodded. One corner of his mouth tipped up but Abby couldn't see any humour in the situation. 'It's okay.'

Clarke's eyes closed and her head bowed. Then -

'Alright.' Her voice was thick and when she looked up, Abby knew the shine in them wasn't just the firelight. Clarke reached into her jacket, bringing out a flutter of white and holding it out to Bellamy. 'My map of Mount Weather.' she said, voice faltering when his hand met hers above the fire. 'Find a way to get on that radio and talk to us.'

'I will. ' Bellamy replied, slipping the map into the inside pocket of his jacket.

Clarke stared at him, frozen, and Abby's heart broke. There was nothing she could say or do to make this situation better. Beside her, Kane shifted and grasped her shoulder reassuringly.

'Good luck.' Clarke said, the rasp in her voice more evident than usual. Her breath left her in a shaky laugh as she gave Bellamy a smile, the sadness in it cutting through Abby like glass. 'If anyone can infiltrate Mount Weather, it'll be you.'

Bellamy smirked but it lacked it's usual cockiness. 'I'll see you sooner than you think, princess.'

Over the fire, their eyes met and what needed to be said between the two of them was done silently.

Then Clarke took a step back, nodded to Bellamy, and turned, walking away from the group, back straight, head up. But Abby saw the glimmer of the lone tear that slid down one cheek.

And as Octavia, Lincoln and Raven started planning, Abby also saw how Bellamy's eyes never left her daughter as she disappeared into the dark.

Yes, Clarke may still need her, but there were others in her inner circle now. Others who understood this earth-bound Clarke better, others who could reach her daughter in ways she couldn’t anymore. The one that now stood closest to Clarke in that circle, the one Clarke looked to and sought out, was Bellamy Blake. A week ago, Abby couldn't say if that need would damn her daughter or save her.

She had her answer now.

In fact, Clarke's need for Bellamy Blake might save them all.


	3. [EDIT] As Natural As Breathing (Lincoln)

**CURRENTLY UNDER EDIT**

**SO SORRY :(**


	4. Something's Gotta Give (Raven)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> On Earth, winter follows summer - it is inevitable and one cannot exist without the other. Those rules of nature also applies, Raven thinks, to Bellamy and Clarke - they are separate, but without one, the other cannot truly be and the world is thrown out of balance.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys, the response to the last chapter was A-FREAKING-MAZING. To my readers and especially to those who left encouragement in the form of kudos or comments, I would not be doing this if it weren't for you. Love love love you!
> 
> Also, I know this one's up later than usual and so sorry for that - sometimes life has a way of kicking you in the belly when you're already down, huh? *le sigh*
> 
> Also deux: I claim to no experience in engineering or mechanics or science so if something doesn't ring true...uh...sorry.
> 
> Anyways, onwards we go into the night!

Raven never knew weather like this was possible. Well, of course she knew that temperatures on Earth could rise up to 58 Celsius and that air must be at 100 percent relative humidity before the possibility of rain is even, well, possible. What the textbooks failed to mention is the sticky-coated frustration of waiting for that 100 percent while trying to breathe through air that feels like warm, foggy steam. Fuckers. For a second, Raven almost misses the cool, controlled air system of the Ark. Almost.

She walks into the Mess Hall, the second proper building to be constructed in Camp Jaha after the Medical Bay, and joins the breakfast line, sticking pins into her hair to keep it off her neck as she walks. 

Should just chop it all off, she thinks irritably.

It is barely six in the morning and the Hall has already attracted a decent crowd. Either everyone woke up in a sticky sweat - not the good kind either- and found it too hot to go back to sleep or no one wanted to wait for the sun to make eating a literal chore. In either case, Raven notices, everyone appreciates that Kitchens have decided to serve cooled porridge instead of hot.

She grabs toast, an apple and a thermos of coffee. Since the Alliance between the Arkers and the Trikru a year ago, trade routes had opened up like crazy. A clan from down south had turned up a couple of months back, bringing with them samples of goods they were willing to trade - coffee being one of them. The real thing made imitations she had had on the Ark seem like shit and her addiction had kicked in with a vengeance. 

Her current projects are a heavy duty grinder so that Kitchen doesn't have to hand-grind those damn coffee beans and the specs of a wind mill as an alternative energy source. Five years ago, she was disabling acid fogs, building bombs and figuring out ways to make high impact weapons with the limited resources she had. She wonders if this is what peace looks like. If it is, she'd make like ice in this heat and be goddamn grateful.

Raven briefly entertains the idea of the intimidating the teens who are currently occupying the closest seats to the entrance doors because, well, circulated air, but then decides its not worth the extra effort. Instead she moves to the closest unoccupied seat and spends the next two minutes glaring at the teens over her coffee cup. When one of them notices her, Raven throws him a friendly smile. He pales and she muses that she may have not done more than bare her teeth at him. She smirks and he looks down quickly.

'He piss in your porridge or something?'

She looks up as Murphy drops into the seat opposite her with a grunt. Drops of sweat are already forming on his forehead. She passes him the thermos of coffee without a word and continues to watch the teens. They are now whispering, heads down and huddled together. One of them looks over her shoulder at Raven and Raven narrows her eyes. The girl quickly turns back to her friends and as one, they stand and exit the Mess Hall. Quickly.

'Good choice.' Raven murmurs.

'What?' Murphy asks through a mouthful of porridge.

She rolls her eyes.

'Come on.' she orders, grabs her plate in one hand, yanks away his with the other, ignoring his indignant 'Hey!' and stomps off to the newly vacant table. She knows what she has just done is tantamount to bullying but hell, she's lost skin and blood to the betterment of their lives, the least she deserves is a good table.

Murphy follows grumpily and confiscates his porridge bowl, glaring at her while he eats. She ignores him and concentrates on moving herself into the direct path of the pathetically weak breeze that filters through the double doors. 

Things are…better between Murphy and she than they were five years ago. It was never said but she has forgiven him for shooting and nearly crippling her and he has forgiven her for trying to hand him over to the Grounders to torture to death. They aren't exactly friends but they have saved each other's asses (albeit grudgingly) enough times that a wary alliance had been formed. 

'What the hell got your panties in a twist this morning?' he mutters, swallowing another mouthful of porridge.

Raven can feel a bead of sweat trickle down the side of her neck and scowls. 'If this heat doesn’t let up soon, I'm going to move into the river for the rest of this fucking summer.'

Murphy grunts in agreement. 

She is saved the trouble of chewing Murphy out for his conversational skills when a pair of black scuffed combat boots appear on the floor next to their table . 

She looks up to see Bellamy, who is presently more interested in adjusting his rifle strap than his friends. His dark hair is messy and still wet from the shower. Like most of the males in the Hall, he's dressed in cargo pants and a thin sleeveless undershirt. Even the weather isn't enough to distract her from a beautifully made man and Raven takes a second to appreciate the broad shoulders, the hard rounded outlines of his arms, lean waist and the long legs encased in navy blue cargos. 

The Bellamy of five years ago was kinda cute - not really her type but she could understand why the other girls had gone for his bad-boy cockiness. Hell, she had even made use of it once. Then life on the ground hit them in the face, shit hit the proverbial fan, and Bellamy fucking Blake hit his stride. Fast forward a couple of years, rescue missions, wars, rebellions and face-offs with everything Earth could throw at them, and the bad-boy had become a badass. Who knew Bellamy had it in him. He doesn't wander around shirtless anymore but Raven has seen his training sessions with Lincoln and holy shit, the man is a cut six feet of tanned olive skin and long, hard muscles.

But the most beautiful physical thing about Bellamy, Raven thinks, are the scars. The faded tip of a mark disappearing into his hairline. The thin, long one under his right cheekbone. The small raised tissue above his upper lip. The multitude of other scars criss-crossing his biceps and forearms, faint and silver against the brown of his skin. There were others, one she could see right now on the back of one shoulder, half an inch thick and dangerously close to his neck, just one more souvenir of the Clan wars and the result of an enemy axe. She doesn't know the specifics of those scars or how many he actually has. But she knows what they all mean. They mean Bellamy has bled to protect his people, that he will and has taken lives with his bare hands so that the ones he loves survive, that he would sacrifice his body if it means the safety of those in his care. 

Personally, brawn and scars never did much for her but even Raven has to admit that this rougher, harder version of Bellamy - this man was something else. Not that she would admit it out loud. Ever. But she was a red blooded female and, like all of the females in the Hall between the ages of thirteen and sixty, she wasn’t blind. 

Bellamy gives her and Murphy a quick nod before returning his attention to his rifle strap.

'Either of you seen Clarke?' he says in greeting.

Of course.

Raven smirks and mentally raises a middle finger to all the females in the Hall between the ages of 13 and 60. 

_Yes, Carla, you too, focus on the man glaring at you across your table. You know, the man you married two days ago. Poor fucker. You can batt your eyelashes at Bellamy all you want and he might spare you a glance, but he sure as hell won’t touch. He likes his girls a little shorter, curvier, and blonder. And even if you did fit that criteria, you still wouldn't be enough to hold his attention._

Raven loves Clarke, she's said and proved it ten times over. Yeah, there were times when she swore she saw Finn lingering behind the blonde girl and those were the bad days. But it has been four years, a shitload of screaming, tears, blood and ass savings and their friendship had advanced to the point where Raven would brain someone first and ask questions later if she thought they were a danger to Clarke. That loyalty apparently extended to defending her friend's man against unwanted female advances. Even if said friend wasn't exactly with or refuses to admit to wanting said man.

'Saw her heading up to Engineering earlier.' Murphy stops eating long enough to answer. 'Bout thirty minutes ago now.'

Bellamy stops mid-adjustment and looks down at Murphy, dark brow raised.

'Engineering?' he repeats, glancing at Raven who shrugs a shoulder, 'She knows Raven's schedule - why would she be going to Engineering?'

Murphy pushes away his finished bowl and leans back in his chair, lifting his shoulders and spreading his hands.

'Who knows why your princess does half the things she does?' he says, grinning lazily at Bellamy.

Raven bites into her apple and her eyes narrow when she catches the shift in Bellamy's eyes when Murphy says 'your princess'. 

Bellamy isn't nearly as bad as Clarke when it comes to their non-relationship. In fact, he had become glaringly obvious but Bellamy still hasn’t talked some sense into Clarke so that makes him almost as bad as she was. These two, she rolls her eyes, Octavia would be a grandmother before they had their first kiss. 

Raven won't pretend she had always known. She first suspected something was up the night Bellamy took off on his suicide mission to Mount Weather. He had been trying to convince Clarke to let him go and they had been doing that talking-without-talking thing they always do, Raven had looked up at Bellamy and _holy shit, he really isn't gonna go. If Clarke doesn’t agree, he's actually gonna stay_. Her gaze flew to Clarke across the fire. _That's not fear_ , she realised, _that's bone-deep, mind-numbing terror. And she's gonna veto the best - craziest - plan we have to get our people back and will risk pissing off an army of Grounders so she can keep him safe_. The rest of the argument becomes almost blurred as Raven's brain goes into overdrive. When did the rebel king start taking orders even though he knows he's right? When did the level-headed princess start putting the fear for one man above the fear for hundreds? And with an unpleasant shock, _And how absorbed in my own fucked -up life have I been that I missed two of the people closest to me starting to fall in love?_

So when Clarke finally agreed and Raven had briefed Bellamy on the specifics of an engine room that would control the acid fog, her last words to him were 'She's lost enough to this - your ass better not add to that. Whatever you gotta do - whoever you gotta kill - do it so you come home alive to her. You got me?' He didn't answer, only nodded as the night swallowed him and Lincoln. But his dark eyes were bleak and cold and Raven was reminded of why she once called him 'shooter' and the reason he agreed to a stint as a doomed assassin. He'll be okay, she had known then. Because if there's anything that can turn Bellamy Blake more dangerous than a pit viper, it's a woman he loves.

It was why her temper at Clarke's snappiness didn't flare (much) in the days after. Why she had handed Clarke the radio without hesitating when Bellamy had finally made contact, even though worry was slowly driving her mad. Why she had told him Clarke's reason instead of her own when Bellamy had asked why she hadn't told him that Octavia had ridden to Tondc and she knew what he really wanted to know is why Clarke had kept it from him. It was why she kept dropping Clarke's name during their rushed conversations. Because the reminder of her would ensure that Bellamy didn’t get so caught up in his mission that he would do something stupidly heroic like sacrifice himself, that he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in someone's head if it came down to it, that he would be fighting to get, not only their friends, out alive but himself too. And it had worked.

'By the way,' Murphy is now saying, 'if you're planning on having one of your little tete-a-tetes with Clarke and thinking of inviting us along, do everyone a favour and make it somewhere open-aired, alright?' He stretches and scowls at Bellamy, 'It's hot enough around here without adding you two to the mix.'

Bellamy, who has already tilted up his chin in a nod, brings it back down with a confused, 'What?'

Raven purses her lips to stop herself from spraying Murphy with half-chewed apple bits. A confused Bellamy is a rare sight nowadays. 

'True that.' she mutters, swallowing. 'There's only so much heat a girl can take - even if that heat is metaphorical.'

'Metaphorical, my ass.' Murphy shoots back with a grin, 'You saw the way Arlene went red the last time Clarke and Bellamy talked?' He leaned forward, smirking. 'Easiest lay I ever got.'

Raven snorted. 'You're disgusting.' she says with a scrunched up nose, flicking her apple stem at him.

Murphy avoids it, laughing.

'What the hell are you two going on about?' Bellamy interrupts, eyes darting between them. 'Did you guys get into Jasper and Monty's stash again?'

'We're talking about you. And Clarke.' Raven says and then decides to break it down for him. 'Tension. Sexual tension.'

'Unresolved sexual tension.' Murphy provides helpfully.

Raven wants to laugh at the expression on Bellamy's face so she does. He looks completely at a loss for words and his head snaps from Murphy to her so quickly she worries he might develop whiplash.

'You guys should really do something about it before someone combusts.' Raven says.

'Com - '

'Yeah, combusts.' cuts in Murphy, 'So, just grab Clarke and…I don't know, get a room or something. Everyone will understand.'

Raven shakes her head in disbelief, 'If that's your idea of romance, Arlene must have really been desperate.'

Above them there is a snarl and they look up. 

'I can't believe I'm actually going to fucking say this,' Bellamy says through gritted teeth, eyes on the ceiling. 'but my - fuck - my sex life is none of your damn business. Neither is Clarke's.'

'It is my damn business if being around you and her makes me want to jump the next guy who smiles at me.' Raven shoots back.

'Yeah?' Bellamy smiles, white teeth bared, 'Bet Kyle has something to say about that.'

Asshole.

Irritation snaps her spine straight. She opens her mouth but before she can say anything, Murphy is cutting in again.

'Oh, don't piss Raven off just to change the subject.' he says, waving a hand, 'This is all about you, Sir Fearless Leader, and Lady Fearless Leader.'

'Where the hell is this coming from?' Bellamy retorts, irate, arms folded across his chest.

'The wars are over - no more screaming and fighting and running.' Murphy remarks, leaning back with a sigh. 'I'm getting bored.'

Raven just gives him a sharp smile when Bellamy turns to look down at her.

'Fucking hell,' Bellamy finally mutters, dropping his arms, 'I'm not listening to this. Murphy, get your ass to the gates, you're on duty in the next fifteen.' He is still shaking his head when he stalks away from their table.

'It's like this heat, Bellamy,' Murphy twists in his seat to call loudly after him, 'something's gotta give.'

'You know,' Bellamy snarls over his shoulder, 'I think I liked it better when you two were still trying to kill each other.'

'You notice he didn’t deny a single thing?' Raven says to Murphy who is still watching Bellamy with a smirk.

Murphy turns back to her. 'That I did.'

****

‘If we place the mill on this eastern ridge,’ Raven is saying, drops of water sliding off her finger where she had it pointed on the plastic covered map, ‘we should be able to re-route the entire water system.’

'We could have things up and running in a couple of months or so.' murmurs Wick from her left where he is lounging on his back, eyes closed, one hand propped up against her side, tracing lazy circles on her shoulder. They had just gotten back together again after breaking up for a month and Wick has been making use of every opportunity to touch her. She would have enjoyed it more if it wasn’t for the unpleasant twist in her stomach she sometimes got.

‘Are we having problems with the main generator?’ Bellamy asks and more drops drip from the tips of his hair where he is leaning over the map, ‘I thought the Station’s solar power system was working fine.’

It has been a week since the Mess Hall. 

The heat had not let up a single degree since then and sleeping nights was a sweaty, itchy endeavor. Some of the kids had asked for a couple of hours at the river and Bellamy and Miller had agreed to accompany them. What started out as a small outing snowballed and the guys had found themselves herding a small crowd down to the river, Monroe on stand-by back-up.

Following the Tri-Skai Alliance, Lexa had gifted Camp Jaha with the surrounding 47 acres of land around the Camp, which included the woods and part of a mountain range. One acre for each Arker she had turned her back on in Mount Weather, Raven had thought. She knows it was generous and that it acknowledged Lexa’s attempt to heal the breach between their people. 

But it sure as fuck didn’t bring back Fox – sweet, pretty Fox. It didn’t erase the nights Harper’s screams tore the camp from sleep or when Raven woke up in a cold sweat, struggling for breath, from her own nightmares. Or how it took months before Monty could smile again. It didn’t give Jasper back his innocence or temper his rage – he is mostly the boy he was before Mount Weather but he still carried that rage with him. Those acres didn’t take away the time Clarke had left the camp or what Bellamy had to do to bring her back to them. Or the shit Lincoln had endured at the hands of the Arkers simply because he was Trikru , even though he had been exiled for abandoning his people to help their own. Raven appreciates what Lexa was trying to do. It was war and she can even forgive the Grounder Commander, but God, she can’t forget.

They are no longer at war and the Main Gates of the Camp now remain open and are only locked at night. The handful of Ark kids are often playing in the field directly in front of the gates under the watchful eye of the day guards, but the little buggers are told to stay out of the woods. The woods and river flowing through it now belongs to the Camp and the Trikru have limited their hunting to within their boundaries but its still Earth and humans aren’t the only predators on the food chain. Even the non-predators are either poisonous or have tusks sharp enough to tear flesh. They've lost as many people to snakes and boars as they have to mountain lions and wolves.

So, every venture out is accompanied by an armed guard or a trained shooter as a precaution. Today was no different. For a week, Raven had been nagging Bellamy and Clarke for a meet regarding the Camp’s current electricity usage. To kill two birds, Bellamy had corralled everyone into this trip and once Raven's away from the stuffy walls of the Station and hears the gurgling rush of water against stone, she thinks it's one of his better ideas. Raven privately thinks that the same thought had crossed Bellamy's mind when she sees the way he watches Clarke's bare legs in their short cargo cut-offs. The first one to go in was Murphy who had made the mistake of being too close to Bellamy when sniggering 'Open-aired, am I right?'. Bellamy had bodily picked him up and pitched his yelling ass into the water. Raven had watched the show with a smirk but kept her mouth wisely shut when Clarke turned to Bellamy, brow raised, studying him, then muttering 'I don't even want to know.' 

An hour later, there are people sitting in the shallows, and a group Raven and Lincoln had joined were playing tag team where the water's deeper. Miller's on the opposite bank, gun holstered at his side, listening amusedly with Octavia to Monty who's gesturing wildly. Jasper and Harper are wading in the shallows down the river bend and he's crouching, picking something from the river bed and showing it to her. Harper's smile is almost as bright as the sun sending shards of diamonds off the surface of the water. 

This is peace, Raven thought, this shared laughter and healing and safety. It had made Raven look at Bellamy who was coming out of the river, six-year old Mirry clinging like a burr to his back and then at Clarke who's sitting quietly on the pebbles at the edge of the water, watching Bellamy and the child, a soft smile on her face. They did good, Raven had thought, they did so good.

'No, the Station's solar system is fine.' she now informs Bellamy, trying to ignore the goose-bumps that erupt in the wake of Wick's hand, 'In fact, if we keep the panels well maintained , the rest of the system won't be a problem for a very long time.'

'Okay, so why do we need an alternative energy source?' enquires Clarke. 'If the one we have already is perfectly fine?'

She's seated on Bellamy's other side but is leaning across his out-stretched legs to join the conversation and peer at the map. Clarke's the only one who declined to go into the water but Raven notices that she doesn’t seem to mind the wet seeping from Bellamy's drenched rolled up cargos to her Henly. 

'Because we just expanded the fence out another ten feet last month to accommodate the others who came in from Bonsai Station.' Wick yawns, 'And before that we had expanded it out twenty feet because of the new building sites.'

'We keep expanding the way we do, we're gonna use more than what the Station's solar system can give us.' Bellamy deduces, absently gathering Clarke's hair in his fist so that he doesn't pull it as he shifts back to lean on his hands.

Clarke shifts with him, going to her belly, stretching out her legs, settling herself more firmly across Bellamy's thighs and Raven wonders if they know that they are displaying more comfort with each other's bodies and personal spaces than most couples.

'Bingo.' Wick snaps his fingers. 'Ergo, we need an alternative energy source. We re-route the plumbing system to a generator powered by a wind mill, it takes the pressure off the solar generator and we still have breathing space for expansion.'

Raven watches as Clarke glances at Bellamy. He arches his brows at her and she nods.

'Yeah. Me too.' she murmurs as if he has said anything out loud and Raven wants to slap herself in the forehead. 

Did they really think they could ever find another person who was going to understand their freaky silent language? And even if they did, did either one of them think how threatening it was to have your significant other be so in sync with another person that that they were able to communicate non-verbally? No sane woman was ever going to stay with Bellamy Blake as long as Clarke Griffin was around. Any sane person spending a minute in these two's company would know that trying to turn Clarke Griffin's head was an impossibility when Bellamy Blake is all she can see.

'Do we have the resources to build a wind mill?' Bellamy wants to know.

'Pretty sure we can salvage something from the Bonsai wreck.' Wick says and comes up into a sitting position. Raven feels the brush of his stubble against the skin of her bare shoulder and fights down a smile. 'If we can get a party together, we can start out the day after.'

Bellamy digests this and nods before Clarke lifts up on a hand, still leaning across Bellamy but now facing him, palm flat on the ground next to his hip. At Clarke's movement, Bellamy pushes off his hands and leans in towards her, the fingers of one hand wrapping loosely around the wrist by his hip, the other hand settling automatically in the curve of her waist. She's now almost as close to Bellamy as Raven is to Wick and just as unconcerned about the proximity. 

'Maybe we should go with them.' Clarke says to Bellamy quietly. 'We don't know that territory, Bellamy. It could be dangerous.'

Bellamy's eyes study her face. 'Yeah.' he murmurs and his hand comes off her waist to brush her hair off her shoulder before travelling down to rub her back reassuringly. 'Okay.'

Raven's never been much of a romantic but Clarke and Bellamy look like a something out of a book she had seen once in school on the Ark. Clarke's eyes, serious and steady as they hold Bellamy's, are the colour of storm clouds, rich with rain. Her sun-streaked hair is unbound and it spills in wild gold waves around her shoulders, down her back, almost to her waist and her skin has been tanned the shade of warm honey. She looks like summer - rich, gold and warm. And if Clarke is summer then Bellamy is winter - his onyx coloured eyes, dark hair and the restrained raw power in his body contrasting with Clarke's glow. They are sitting so close that, in the slight breeze, strands of Clarke's hair have tangled with Bellamy's, gold streaking ink black. On Earth, winter follows summer - it is inevitable and one cannot exist without the other. Those rules of nature also applies, Raven thinks, to Bellamy and Clarke - they are separate, but without one, the other cannot truly be and the world is thrown out of balance. 

'You seeing what I'm seeing?' Wick's voice is a whisper in her ear and Raven smirks, nodding.

She feels Wick's chest expand against her back in an exasperated breath and Raven bites down a laugh. 

Still rubbing Clarke's back, Bellamy turns his head and calls for his brother in law. Lincoln disengages from the tag team and rises from the water, pebbles crunching under his steps as he comes towards them. He takes in Bellamy and Clarke, the way they are almost wrapped around each other, his brows rise slightly and he meets Wick and Raven's amused gaze with one of his own.

Yeah, Lincoln, I know.

'Hey, what do you know about this territory?' Bellamy asks him.

Lincoln crouches to take a closer look at the map to where Bellamy is pointing at, five miles or so from the Eastern Ridge she was planning to put the wind mill.

'Trikru territory.' Lincoln nods. 'But it is close to the border. If you are planning on going there, it is best to be armed.'

'We need to scout for resources from the last Ark Station.' Bellamy tells Lincoln, 'You up for it?'

Lincoln gives Bellamy a sharp grin, 'I will let Octavia know - she has been complaining of boredom lately.'

****

They managed to extract what they needed from the wreak without incident and have stopped for the night. 

Harper and Miller are on first watch and have taken high points on the cliff-face where they have set up camp. Lincoln and Octavia have not returned from scouting the area and Raven has left Monty and Wick at the fire where they are roasting a couple of rabbits, to stand at the edge of the steep decline. It's a new moon tonight and the only light Raven can see is the glow of the fire on the ground under her feet and the stars above her. In front of her, below her, the forest spreads out in all it's dark glory towards the shadowed peaks of the mountain range. During the day, Earth can be deceptively tranquil. Raven thinks that the night gives a better representation of the ground - beautiful and dangerous. 

Then a glitter in the sky makes her look upwards and her breath catches when she sees a falling star, leaving in it's wake a trail of sparks in the deep indigo sky. Then another. And another. And another.

She's about to call to the others when a movement in the dim light to her far left catches her attention. Focusing, Raven can make out Clarke and Bellamy in the shadows of the cliff wall, well away from the others, also looking up at the shower of stars. Clarke is bumping Bellamy's arm playfully with her arm.

'Still don’t know what you'd wish for?' she teases, her voice drifting on the breeze.

Bellamy's shoulders move in a slight laugh, the deep rumble of his laughter mingling with Clarke's husky tone.

'No,' he turns his head to look down at her and even from the distance, Raven can see the slight smile, 'I'd definitely know what to wish for now.'

His tone is light but the words are heavy with meaning and Clarke's head turns to look at him. 

They stand there, draped in starlight, Earth laid out before them, immersed in each other. Raven can see the way Bellamy's face has gentled, the way it only does for Clarke. To their people, Bellamy cuts an intimidating figure. To their inner circle, sarcastic wit and passion. To his sister, fierce protection. Only to Clarke, in quiet moments, does Raven ever see his face open in it's gentleness. She brings him peace, Clarke does, and in a world where every move Bellamy makes is about a fight for survival, whether it's his own, his sister's or his people's, Bellamy deserves all the peace he can get.

But in this quiet moment, stolen amidst friends and in the still of the night, Raven can also see the fear flickering across Clarke's face, the doubt under the soft smile, the hesitation and some part of Raven inexplicably panics. She wants to walk over to the blonde girl, tell her to fight whatever demons she has, to give them all to Bellamy if she can't handle the weight of her own pain because Raven knows he will take them on and win. She needs to know that Clarke and Bellamy will make it, she needs to know that love can win this round, she needs to have hope. She wants to yell at Bellamy to keep fighting because he will never find another woman that can be what Clarke is to him. She wants them to fight for each other like they've fought for their people - without hesitation and with every molecule of their being.

But Raven can't. Her feet won't move and the words have dried up in her throat. So she remains silent and when Clarke touches Bellamy's arm and moves away towards the fire, Raven walks forward. 

She comes up on Bellamy's other side and stares down at the darkened landscape below them.

'Don't give on her.' she murmurs.

She glances at him but he is still watching Clarke walk away.

'Not planning to.' Bellamy replies, turning his attention to her and his voice is set and determined for all it's softness.

'I mean it, Bellamy.' That inexplicable panic is also determined to make itself clear. 'Whatever happens, no matter how much she pushes you away, you gotta promise me you won't give up on her. She's worth the fight.'

He turns to look at her fully and reaches to take her by the arms. 'I know she is, Raven.'

'She's scared and she needs to know you can take - '

'I know she is.' Bellamy interrupts, still talking softly, 'And I could tell her that I'd take it all - I'd make all her fear, her pain and her tears mine if words are what she needs. But they're not. Not now. So I'll wait until they are.' There is a strange glitter in his shadowed eyes, 'And I'll find a way under those walls she built around herself. I'll bring them down and I don't fucking care how long it takes. She was mine the moment I chose not to let her fall into that Grounder trap five years ago. And she claimed me the first time she ran straight into my arms. I didn’t know it then but I know it now. And one day, Clarke's gonna figure it out too.'

_God, don't let Clarke figure it out too late._

Looking into Bellamy's eyes, it finally dawns on Raven that she needn't have worried about him. She wasn’t there when Bellamy had gripped Clarke's wrist and refused to let her go, that first day on Earth when they had gone searching for Jasper. But she had been witness to Clarke's relief when Bellamy had walked through the newly constructed gate of Camp Jaha. It was also the first time she had realised that Clarke didn't just tolerate Bellamy out of a need of his skills, she actually cared about him, cared deeply enough that she would leave Raven behind to catch up while she went to see for herself that he was okay. Raven had not minded, not then and certainly not now, she had known what it feels like to hang in the balance wondering if someone you cared about was okay and the physical need to touch that came with seeing them again.

Then one of Bellamy's hands spans her back, the other around the back of her neck and he pulls her in for a hug.

'You're a pain in the ass, Reyes.' he murmurs in her ear but before she can draw back an arm to slug him, Bellamy continues, 'But you've always come through. You have my gratitude. But there's also fear in your eyes and not all of it is for me and Clarke. It's also for yourself.' Raven's body tenses but Bellamy just tightens his hold on her. 'You need to work out that poison, Raven, because you're also worth the fight.' 

He pulls back, squeezes her neck and turns to walk away. Raven stares unblinkingly at his back then at the fire where Wick is sitting next to Monty. He's grinning at Monty and the sight makes her chest constrict painfully, Bellamy's words battering her heart.

It's time.

God, this hurts.

****

'Hey, I've been looking for you all day.'

Raven doesn’t look up from the soldering iron in her hand, eyes fixed firmly down. 'Yeah, sorry, I've been busy.'

A pause, then Wick's footsteps come closer and Raven ignores the tight fist in her stomach. His hand cups the curve of her shoulder, warmth seeping through and she can feel a rush of air at her back as he bends towards her, pressing a kiss on top of her head.

'You okay?' he murmurs.

'Yep. Just busy.' she says blandly, shrugging off his hand and trying not to look like she was doing it.

Another pause, this time longer.

'What's wrong?' Wick asks and from his voice, Raven knows she can't put this off any longer.

She turns to him, pulls off the wraparound glasses and takes a deep breath. 'Wick,' she starts, 'look, I think -'

'Jesus Christ.' Wick steps back, arms up, hands rubbing his face harshly. 'You're not doing this again.'

'Do what?' But she knows, she just hoped to God he never did.

'This!' Wick snaps, throwing out an arm at her. 'We're more on and off than the lights in this damn place. We're on and then when things get serious, you do this and we're off again. I'm not doing it, Raven, not again.'

'Then don't.'

_No, wait._

Wick stares at her, jaw working silently. 'You'll let me walk away? Just like that?'

'If that's what you want.'

_God, no._

'No, its not what I goddamn want, Raven.' he snaps 'What I want is know why one of the bravest people I know is so scared of her own heart.'

Raven's back goes ramrod straight, 'You don't know enough about me to say that.'

'And who's fault is that?' all signs of the easy-going Wick has disappeared and he's now looking at her like he wants to shake her, 'Every time I get even close to something personal about you, you clam up.'

'And I've told you,' Raven snaps, 'if you don't like it, then don't do it.'

She stands and makes to push past him but Wick stops her with a hand on her arm. 'You don't mean that.'

_No, I don't._

'Yes, I do.' she replies and her heart _howls_.

His tawny brown eyes have darkened to sable and Raven just barely meets his eyes. Her head feels foggy and her breath is coming too quickly. Her chest is tight, her eyes are burning hot but dry - she was in too much pain to even cry. She vaguely wonders if this is how it feels to break your own heart.

'Raven,' Wick says slowly, deliberately, 'if you let me walk out of this room again, it'll be the last time I do. I ca - ' his voice breaks and Raven's throat constricts, 'I can't keep doing this. I'm fighting here, Raven, but I can't be the only one to fight. I don't want to keep falling in love with you when it seems like you don't want to give this a chance. '

Panic lines her throat.

'Wick -' she begins, but his hold on her arm tightens.

'Make your choice, Raven. I hope to God you'll ask me to stay, but if you don't,' his voice hardens, 'then make this a clean cut and tell me now.'

She shoves him away, ignoring Wick's eyes narrowing warningly, 'You've got balls to give me ultimatums,' she snaps, panic and anger a dangerous churning in her belly.

'To be with you, I gotta have balls.' he snaps back. 'Make your choice.'

There is the muffled sound of the door opening and Raven spins to face it, glad to have an excuse to look away from Wick.

Bellamy and Clarke stand framed in the doorway, their eyes darting uneasily between Raven and the engineer.

'Something tells me this isn't their usual fight.' Bellamy mutters to Clarke.

The blonde doesn’t reply but keeps her worried eyes on Raven.

She can't handle the questions in Clarke's eyes right now and heads straight for the door.

'Raven!' Wick snarls behind her, 'We're not done - '

'I need a fucking minute!' she snaps, as much to him as to Clarke who has stepped forward with an arm outstretched.

There is no hurt on Clarke's face as she steps back again, too used to Raven's moods, but the worry is blatantly obvious and Raven doesn’t want to deal with it yet.

She pushes past Clarke and Bellamy and into the corridor. The humid air is heavy in her throat as she stalks down the corridor, not caring if it looked like she was running away. Maybe she was. But she doesn’t care.

****

'You're obviously not, but are you okay?'

Raven blows out a breath and pushes away from the table, turning to Clarke.

She had stalked out of the room, the Station, the gates and into the woods, heading straight for the drop ship. The Guards had let her by without complaint, she always carried a gun on her, Miller's dad had finished off the job Bellamy had started in showing her how to shoot and she was a good enough shot that she could be counted on as back up. She had sat in that sweltering ship, in frozen misery for two hours, brain in overdrive and had come back just as jittery. Wick was gone by the time she had returned and he still wasn’t back. She tries not to think about that.

'Yeah.' she tries to give Clarke a smile but knows she wasn’t exactly convincing when the worry doesn’t slip from Clarke's face.

'Look, I don't know what Bellamy and I walked into,' Clarke begins, 'but it looked pretty intense. Even for you and Kyle.'

Raven looks down, picks at a loose thread on her pants. 'Yeah, it kinda was.' she admits quietly. 'I tried to break up with him and it didn't go over too well.'

Clarke remains quiet for so long that Raven looks up. Clarke stands on the other side of the room, arms wrapped around herself.

Realisation dawns and Raven's eyes narrows.

'You think I shouldn’t have done that.'

Clarke's hands come up in a placating gesture, 'I never said that, Raven.'

'But it's what you're thinking.'

'Hun,' Clarke comes forward, lays a hand on Raven's arm, 'I understand why you keep pushing Kyle away. But he'd move heaven and earth for you, you know. You're happier with him than anyone else you've been with.'

_Including Finn?_

The thought is bitter and Raven doesn’t want to think about Finn. Doesn’t want to think of the boy she had loved more than life, the boy who had inadvertently betrayed her, who loved another more than he did her, who had saved her and who she couldn’t save in turn. The bitterness adds to the already poisonous mix of pain, terror and anger churning in her belly, churning and growing ever higher until Raven's terrified it might reach her throat and spill out.

'It doesn’t matter.' Raven says, stiffly, 'He's gone now. It's done.'

Clarke grasps the side of her neck, yanks her close until grey-blue eyes are staring straight into her own, 'It doesn’t have to be done.' she whispers fiercely, 'It doesn’t, Raven. Kyle might say he's done, but he'll turn back in a second if he knows you're ready to fight for him instead of fighting him.'

'Clarke -'

'Raven, don't let the love of a good man go to waste.' Clarke's voice is soft and pleading. 'Don't keep hurting him in the course of your own personal battle against your fears.'

And something in Raven gives, the poison in her belly rising to the surface until Raven can taste it in her mouth. She shoves away from Clarke, stalking to the middle of the room and spins around to face her.

'You can't seriously be saying that to me. You.' Raven snarls, pointing a finger at Clarke, who is looking wary at the turn of events, 'You can't seriously be standing there and talking to me about hurting a good man after the shit you pulled.' 

'Raven - '

'They told everyone you came home, but that's not true, is it, Clarke? You didn’t come back, Bellamy had to drag your ass back.' she taunts, ignoring the stab in her chest when Clarke goes pale. 

It's true, Clarke's return to Camp Jaha after her time with the Ice Nation wasn't entirely voluntary. But Raven knows it wasn’t as simple as that, knows that she's not being fair to Clarke - but she can't seem to stop. 'You wanna talk about hurting a good man? How about the shit Bellamy had to do to pull you out of the shell you became?'

Clarke tries to herd her off, 'Raven, that wasn’t the same -' 

_No, it wasn't. Clarke, please just leave._

'The hell it wasn’t, Griffin.' she snaps, 'You didn't see the look on his face every time he finished dealing with your wacked ass. But I did. I saw him every time he returned from you.' she stalks closer, 'And he was dead behind the eyes.' A vicious perverse part of her grins when Clarke flinches and takes a step back as if Raven's words had physically lashed her. 'You were killing him slowly.'

_What are you doing?_

'That's not true.' Clarke whispers but Raven sees that her words had had teeth and had dug in deep.

_Raven, don't do this._

'Yes, it is, Clarke.' Raven says quietly, that poison still in the recesses of her mouth. 'And the worst part was watching him realise that the blood on his body wasn’t all his own. That he had to hurt you to bring you back, that he had to make you bleed. Bellamy has withstood everything the ground has thrown at him. He should have known that what would break him would come from the sky.'

'Stop it.' Clarke grounds out.

_Raven, stop. Stop before you damage this and her beyond repair._

But she can’t stop. 

'Bellamy saved you, Clarke, at his own expense.' _Oh God, stop._ 'He's the strongest of us all and he was brought low by you.' _Stop, stop, sto -_ 'You pretend that you're tough, that you know the answers to everything, that you can do anything,' _Stop_ ' but all you are is scared - scared that if he sees underneath all that, all he'd find is that cowering, hungry, little girl that was never enough for anyone.' _Daddy, Mama, Finn, oh God - Kyle_ , 'It's pathetic, pretending to love when you don't even know the meaning of the word. And how can you when no one has ever loved you, ever needed you like you've needed them?' _Why wasn't I ever enough?_ 'How could he ever love you when you destroy everything you touch?' _Kyle, I'm sorry, I'm so fucking sor -_ 'He’ll never love you, not the real you, 'cause the real you is a pathetic, grasping, pretending bitch that -'

The blow comes unseen, her head snaps back and pain explodes from her cheekbone and spreads across the rest of her face like wildfire. Raven staggers back a step, grabbing the edge of a table automatically. Shaking the tiny white dots from her vision, Raven looks up at Clarke, who has moved across the room faster than she thought was possible, her face white except for the crimson streaking her cheeks. 

Without thinking, Raven moves and tackles the blonde around the waist, bringing her to the ground. They hit the hard metal floor with a thud, the crash of glass echoing in the room, and Raven rears a fist back, clocking Clarke across the face. Clarke takes the blow without even flinching, reaches up to wrap her fingers around Raven's arms and then bucks, rolling them both - _holy shit, she's strong_ \- until she's sitting up, straddling Raven's waist and was returning the hit when Raven blocks it with a forearm. She arches up and it becomes a tangle of fists, elbows, knees and the sounds of fists against flesh, grunts and the clang of metal tools hitting the metal floor. Raven's faster and more agile but Clarke's heavier and she's had more experience in close-quarter combat. Raven doesn’t know how long it takes, only knows the relief that comes with physical pain of hitting something and taking the hurt of a hit, then -

'Damn it!'

Raven's once again blinking away white spots from her vision, one hand wrapped around Clarke's forearm where it was coming down in a chokehold. When the dots clear, she see Clarke winching and shaking her other hand, the glitter of glass shards in the fleshy part of her palm, blood already dotting around the tiny cuts. The sight makes Raven release Clarke's forearm and push up into a sitting position.

'Holy shit, you're bleeding.' she mutters and pulls Clarke's hand towards her.

'It's okay,' Clarke grimaces, 'they're not deep. Are you okay?'

Slowly Raven realises what had just happened. She and Clarke stare at each other before Clarke starts laughing, falling back on her ass to the floor. Raven shakes her head and the absurdity of the situation hits her like a anvil. She starts giggling and goes to her back as Clarke crawls over, collapsing next to her on the cold floor.

'Oh God,' Clarke gasps, 'what the hell just happened?'

Raven sobers, 'Clarke, what I said - I'm so sorry, I didn't mean -'

'I know you didn't.' the blonde replies, her laughter dying too. She turns her head to meet Raven's eyes. 'The part about being a hungry little girl is cluing me in, now that my head's cleared.' She smiles but there was more sadness in it than humor, 'I bet there were many on the Ark but I've never been that. And everyone knew it.' Her fingers clasp Raven's. 'That wasn't about all about me. You were talking about yourself.

Raven squeezes her eyes shut and turns her neck so she's facing the ceiling again. 'Yeah.' she concedes quietly. 'But everything I said about Bellamy, I -'

Clarke squeezes her fingers, 'It's okay, Raven, I get it.'

'He loves you, you know.'

She wouldn't blame Clarke if she deflected it, if she chose to pretend to misinterpret the statement, but - 

'I know.' Clarke's reply is given just as quietly.

'And you're in love with him.'

Nowhere to hide with that one.

Clarke doesn’t reply for so long that Raven opens her eyes and turns her head to look at her. Clarke is staring at the ceiling but her chest is moving rapidly and she's biting her lip so hard that Raven's worried she might break skin.

'Hey,' she whispers, entwining her fingers with Clarke's, 'it's okay.'

'I've never said it out loud.' Clarke says in a rough, low voice. 'I'm terrified to.'

'But you are in love with him, Clarke.'

Clarke's head turns to meet her gaze and Raven's heart clenches at the fear pinching her eyes. Then her eyes close and her brows draw down, 'I didn't know it could be like this, Raven. Burning. Aching. Consuming.' Her eyes snap open again, 'What if being with him changes who I am?'

'What?' Raven mentally shakes her head, thrown.

'I am who my people need me to be.' Clarke says but she sounds like she's reciting something memorised. 'I lead my people to peace, I call for war and blood. I have given everything I am to my people and I regret nothing. But this burn in me, this need for him - what if it consumes me until all that's left is that need and not the leader? What if I can no longer be what our people need me to be?'

'Clarke, that won't happen.' Raven murmurs and she goes up on an elbow, 'You're a leader, Clarke, but you're also a woman. You can't expect to be alone for the rest of your life. You have one of the biggest hearts I've ever known - you have so much love to give, it's a damn shame if you don't use some of that for yourself.' She reaches up and brushes away a fall of hair from Clarke's face. 'And it's a damn shame if you don't share that heart with Bellamy. The last thing you need to worry about is losing your edge with him. Because you won't.'

'You sure about that?' Clarke tilts her head to look at Raven and the look in her eyes makes Raven brace. 'Because the thing I'm scared about the most is just how okay I am with the idea.'

Raven stares at Clarke.

_Holy shit, she's gone for him._

'It won't come to that, Clarke.' she finally says.

'Everyone else I had loved has tried to change who I am, Raven.' Clarke protests quietly, 'I've never given in but none of them has ever been Bellamy, and if he tries -'

'Then he's not the man you think he is.' Raven interrupts. She leans in closer, 'But trust me, when it comes to Bellamy Blake, no one alive or dead will ever know him the way you do. I wasn't here those first few days on the ground, but I've heard the stories. The first time I met Bellamy, I thought he was nothing but an ass. But there you were, telling him how who he really is was the guy who tried to save his sister.'

'He was just scared - same as the rest of us.' Clarke snaps.

_Whoa. Protective, much?_

Raven can't help but laugh. 'See?' she grins, bumping Clarke's head with her shoulder, 'That's what I mean - you know him, Clarke. You see things we can't. You know the twisted parts of him just as well as the parts that make him the kick-ass guy he is. So,' she leans in again. 'do you really think he's gonna want you to give up an integral part of yourself when everything you are is what he fell in love with in the first place?'

Clarke closes her eyes and when she opens them, she's looking almost sheepish.

'No.' she mutters.

Raven grins. 'And considering that Bellamy's in love with you and he's probably more dangerous now than he's ever been - do you think falling in love with him is going to make you lose your edge? Do you think that gaining something as precious as the love of a good man is going to make you less able to protect it?'

Clarke groans, thumps her head against the floor and covers her eyes with her hands. 'No.'

'Then,' Raven leans up and flops back down on her back with a satisfied sigh, 'my work here is done.' She reaches out, grasps Clarke's hand again. 'You don't have to tell him now.' she says, her voice quiet again, 'You don't have to say it out loud until you're ready. But you have to give him something, Clarke. Anything to let him know that he's worth the fight too.'

Clarke squeezes her fingers in response. 'You know, I could say the same thing about Kyle.' she whispers.

Raven nods, swallowing the lump that has formed in her throat at his name. 'I love him.' she admits quietly. 

'I know.' Clarke murmurs. 'And he's not Finn, Raven, he won't forsake you. I have never seen anyone look at someone the way he looks at you.'

'Only because you don't seem to see the way Bellamy looks at you.' returns Raven, but there's a warm, clean glow in her chest at Clarke's words.

Clarke gives her an exasperated side glare and they both break out in soft laughter.

'I mean it, Raven.' Clarke says. 'Finn was a boy and he was never meant for life on the ground. Earth was too violent, too unpredictable for someone like him. I can understand it now. But Kyle is a man and for all that he is carefree, he was also built for this life. He knows how and when to bend so that he doesn't break. And you need someone with that type of strength.'

'I think I've lost him, Clarke.' Raven whispers, the same fear rushing back.

'You haven't really lost him until you've given up on him.' Clarke replies and she sits up, leaning her weight on one hand and turning to look down at Raven, 'So don't fight him, Raven. Let him love you, let yourself love him. Because the woman you are deserves the best and he wants to give that to you. Promise me.'

Raven stares up at Clarke. She doesn’t and will never know what it'll feel like to have a sister but she suspects it'll probably feel something like this. 'Promise me you'll fight for Bellamy.'

Clarke huffs out a laugh, tilts her chin up to shake her head at the ceiling before she looks down again at Raven. 'I promise.' she mutters but she's smiling.

Raven grins, 'Then -'

'Hmm. Private party or can anyone join?'

They turn towards the doorway at the new addition to their conversation and find Wick leaning against the doorframe. Hope and fear clash and Raven shoots up to a sitting position.

'Hey.' she says quietly.

_Thank you for coming back._

'Hey.' he replies on a murmur.

He gives her an easy smile but his eyes are shadowed and Raven takes in a deep breath.

'I think,' Clarke says, too brightly, 'I better go see what Monty and Jasper are up to. It's a wonder we haven't heard any explosions yet.' She pushes herself up to her feet, barely winching, then looks around at the room. 'Uh, sorry about the mess.' she mutters at Kyle as she passes him.

Raven looks around, sees the smashed glass, the skewed table, the tools littering the floor and winches. She gets to her feet as Kyle pushes himself off the doorframe and comes deeper into the room. She watches as he gives the room and then her a quick study before letting out a soft whistle.

'I'm almost afraid to ask.' he says, hands in his pocket.

'Yeah. Uh -' Raven shifts uneasily on her feet, 'just working some poison out.'

'Hmm.' Wick presses his lips together, eyes on her face again and then his brows draw down and his hands come out and up, one hand tilting Raven's chin. The warmth of his fingers spreads down her neck. 'That's going to bruise.' he murmurs and then gives her jaw an experimental press with his thumb.

'Ow!' she snaps, trying to batt his hands away but Wick just ignores her and pulls her back to him.

'You were the one who decided to go head to head with Princess Badass.' Wick says conversationally as he tips her face up to the light again. 'There's always an 'Ow' in the aftermath of a bad decision.'

'I knew she packs a punch,' Raven complains, winching when Wick presses against the sore spot again, 'but goddamn, she packs a punch.'

Wick throws her a wry glance, 'Half the people in this place are trained shots. And yet Clarke is still one of the best shooters we have - you know that, right?'

'Yeah, and?' Raven glares.

'Bellamy taught her how to shoot.' Wick smirks.

'And gun play is relevant to the state of my face how?' Raven snaps.

'Who do you think taught Clarke how to throw a punch?'

Shit.

'Bellamy fucking Blake.' Raven mutters then glares at Wick when he starts laughing, 'You know,' she snaps over the sound of his laughter, 'it's part of your job to point out the flaws in my decisions before I make them, not after.'

'My job as what?' Wick grins, 'The good angel on your shoulder? Cause if we're doing that, I'm telling you now, I want the right one - your left shoulder's a little bony.'

Normally, that would have earned him a punch in his left shoulder. But it doesn’t because Raven's suddenly nervous and cold sweat has erupted on her neck. Wick stops laughing, and he's so close that she can see the green specks in his tawny eyes, the laugh lines radiating from their corners, the russet tips in his lashes.

Shit, she's actually going to do this. 

'Your job as my boyfriend.' she mutters. 

Wick freezes. 

Then he is releasing her and taking a step back. That shouldn't hurt but God, it does. So much so that Raven wraps both arms around her belly and drops her gaze, staring unseeingly at her as the pain crashes over her in one huge wave. 

What if she's too late? What if he's finally tired of her shit and decided that he's had enough? What if he's finally realised that other, more sane, women wouldn't put him through the ringer like she has and he decides he wants one of them?

'What changed?' Wick asks, quietly.

She looks up and he's leaning against the table, a couple of feet away from her, half-sitting on the metal surface, arms locked to grip the edge of the table beside his hips. There's sunlight streaming in through the window at his back, turning the broad outline of his shoulders and the tips of his hair a fiery gold and it brings back a memory of him looking at her the first time she wore his damn leg brace. She remembers standing in the exact same spot, unsteady and unused to the weight of the brace, uncommonly shy under his gaze and she had been thinking that no one - _no one_ \- has ever looked at her with so much gentleness before. And now, she's learning that no one ever will. 

_God, don't let me be too late._

'I'm in love with you.' Raven says, grateful that her voice is steady.

It's nowhere as hard as she thought it would be but it also scares her more than she thought was possible. Wick's eyebrows lift and his eyes darken but all he does is let out a short laugh and drop his head to shake it at the floor. She can't tell what he's thinking and Raven _hates_ it. He breathes out on a loud exhale and his head comes up to meet her eyes. 

'I know you are.' Wick tells her, his own gaze clear and still, sending shock through her. 'It's what kept me from throwing the towel in every time you pushed me away. It's why I come back to you again and again even though each time you walk away hurts more than the last. It's what keeps me from climbing the walls every time you smile at me from over _there_ ,' his arm lifts and he jabs a finger at her work station across the room, 'like nothing had ever happened. Like you've never climbed into my arms and slept like the dead. Like you've never sat on my bed in my shirt and complained about the lack of reality in my designs . Like I didn’t know what you tasted like or how it feels to move inside you.' He stops and turns his head to look at the wall, a tick in his jaw, and Raven thinks bitterly of how stupid she has been. 'So yeah, Raven, I know you love me.' Wick says, still looking away, body wired tight, 'And you gotta know by now, you're it for me.' He turns his head to look at her again, 'You're the craziest, most amazing woman I know and you've had me since I watched you talk back to your Zero-G instructor.' Then his voice drops and his chest expands with a deep breath. 'But you still haven't answered my question. What am I dealing with here, Raven?'

What he really means is, tell me this time is going to be different.

He had told her once that he was in if she wanted to give them a chance, but he wasn’t going to play games. But in the end, he did. Her game. Her screwed up, push-you-away-to- pull-you-back game, a game she made him an unwilling player in, and she didn’t know how to tell him, to convince him, that she was done with that game too. But she remembers what she had promised Clarke, what she had made Clarke promise her and a deal is a deal.

'My life's been full of fucking tropes.' she starts, arms still around her waist, gaze darting away as her eyes start to burn, 'Abusive, dead-beat father who got floated before I turned ten. A mama who loved her moonshine more than me. She got floated too for solicitation. A boy I fell in love with but I guess he, uh, didn’t love me back as much 'cause he found someone better the moment he could. I'm a walking advert for abandonment issues and no one has ever picked me first. You were the first person to pick me first. It scared me and when I get scared, I go on offence. So I push you away. I'm not making trying to make excuses for how I treated you,' she hastens to say, her eyes flicking back to Wick, who hasn't moved but was watching her, eyes narrowed, 'I'm just - just - trying to explain where my head was at.'

'I know.' Wick says gently.

'Ok.' she breathes in. God, this was hard. She had never told anyone about her parents, not even Finn because he had heard it all happen anyway in his room, next to hers. 'Ok. You were right. Push them away first so they don’t get to. And I know that's what I've been doing to you for years. And I'm sorry - God, Wick, I'm sorry. If I loved you the way I wanted to and you found out that I wasn’t enough and left me too - I don't know if I can come back from that. So I push you away every time I look at you and I feel myself falling again. 'Cause it fucking hurts when you hit the ground and I've hit it one too many times. I haven't gotten it all figured out but I think if I had you on my side, I might actually get there sooner. If you still want me, I mean.' she finishes lamely. 

Then Wick's there in front of her, one hand tilting her chin back to him, 'I'm not going anywhere without you.' he says quietly. 

Raven stares up at him and God, he's looking at her the way he did when she stood in front of him with that stupid leg brace. 

'I know.' she whispers and her vision blurs when his other hand comes up to cup her cheek. She lets go and grasps his wrists. 'I'm a tough girl, Wick. No one has ever looked or touched me the way you do. Like I'm something precious and delicate.'

'You are, Raven.' Wick murmurs, his words a breath on her lips, calloused fingertips soft on her skin.

She smiles through her tears because even if she doesn’t know whether he meant that she was strong or that she was precious or delicate, she knows he believes she's them all. 

'I love you, Kyle. I love your mind and how it breaks down everything in a nano-second. How it comes up with the craziest things to say to make me laugh. I love your arrogance 'cause you've got the balls to back it up.' His chest moves in silent laughter and Raven laughs, the tightness in her chest gone. 'I love how you can make me feel like the strongest person on Earth when I'm crying in your arms.' Her hands slip from his wrist to circle his waist, bringing him flush against her, 'I love your body. How it can take me to the edge again and again.' His fingers tighten warningly on the sides of her neck. 'How you move inside me, the way you look when you're telling me to hold on -'

'God, stop talking.' he's suddenly groaning against her lips and as he turns and crowds her against the table, mouth on hers, Raven's never been happier to shut up. 

****

'She's probably at dinner already.'

It's been two hours since they emerged from Engineering and Raven was hoping out loud that Clarke was okay. Her own story is just beginning but she wants to make sure that Clarke's story will begin soon too.

Raven throws Kyle a wry look as they move down the corridor. 'Or you're probably just hungry.'

'There's that.' Kyle winks at her. 'My girl took a lot out of me.'

He laughs and quickly dodges her fist aimed at his arm, hooking her around the waist instead and drawing her to him, burying his neck in her neck.

'I love you.' Kyle murmurs against the skin of her neck and Raven freezes.

It's the first time he's ever said the words straight out to her and she wraps an arm around his shoulder, resting her forehead against her fingers where they lay between the joint of his neck and shoulder.

'And I love you.' she whispers.

The moment is lost when his stomach gives a rumble and Raven falls back with a snort of laughter.

'You might love me,' she grins, 'but your stomach doesn’t right now.'

'Right.' Kyle nods seriously. 'Feed me.'

'Oh God.'

They continue down the corridor. There's a strange heaviness in the humid air and beyond them, through the door out of the Station, Raven can see that instead of the usual heavy yellow glow, the afternoon light on the surface of the open courtyard was a muted deep gray. She can hear laughter beyond that entrance, the sound of pounding feet on the ground, calls to pass the ball. Then a rumble above them resounds through the Camp just as they reach the door and Raven grips Kyle's arm. She's been on the ground long enough to know what that sound is. 

Thunder was rolling.

Her gaze whips up just as the sky opens and rain pours down in thick heavy sheets. Shrieks of laughter accompany the sound of rain pounding against the metal walls of the ship and above them, the sky rumbles again.

Raven stands stock still, her hand in Kyle's, feeling wind that has, for the first time in months, a bite of cold to it. 

The rain tanks won't have just dust in them tonight.

'Something's gotta give.' she murmurs to herself.

Then Kyle's squeezing her hand and nodding to their right. She follows his gaze and sees Clarke standing under the shelter of an archway to the ship. She's close enough that Raven can see the swelling beginning under her cheekbone after one of Raven's hits. But Clarke doesn’t seem to notice them because she's focused on the group to Raven's left that had continued their ball game in open courtyard of the camp. Or rather, Raven thinks as she follows the blonde's line of sight, through the thick veil of rain, to a tall figure bending down to pick up the ball, one particular person in the group.

She knows the moment Bellamy clocks Clarke because he stops, ball still in his hands, clothes plastered to his body, hair slicked back against the rain. From where she's standing, Raven can see the sheer need and ache on Clarke's face and she lets out a shaky breath. If that's just the surface of what Clarke feels for Bellamy, Raven thinks, no wonder she was terrified. 

Standing there in the shadows of the dim afternoon, hair wild from the moisture, bare legs and arms shining wet from the rain, eyes as stormy as the sky swirling above them, it seems as if the calm façade Clarke had always carried is stripped away and Raven is seeing her for the first time - is seeing Clarke's heart in all it's beauty and sadness, laid out as she looks at Bellamy.

Bellamy's looking right at her and when Clarke remains motionless, he moves forward, the game forgotten, disregarding the calls for him. Then Clarke's moving, stepping out into the torrent and heading straight for him. By the time Clarke reaches the middle of the courtyard, she's running and Raven is reminded of the day Clarke had ran to Bellamy when he walked in through the gates. Bellamy realises before Raven that Clarke wasn’t going to stop. Unlike the last time, however, Bellamy doesn't hesitate. With a powerful sidearm the ball goes flying, he widens his stance and braces, barely moving and absorbing the impact when Clarke's body hits his, her legs wrapping around his waist, his hands on her upper thighs, anchoring her to him. They're in Raven's direct line of sight and are less than ten feet away.

Clarke has her arms wrapped around his shoulders, her face buried in the side of his neck. She finally leans back as Bellamy tilts his chin to meet her gaze. But she doesn’t look at him, only brings up a hand to trace the lines of his face, lingering on his mouth. They seem to have forgotten the rest of the world, the occasional earth-shaking rumble of thunder, the downpour of rain on them or the curious and smiling eyes of Camp Jaha.

Raven knows that Bellamy understands that something has changed when his eyes close at Clarke's touch and he drops his head to lean it against her shoulder, relief in every line of his body. His hands tighten on Clarke to the point that Raven can bet that the blonde is going to find finger-shaped bruises on her thighs come morning. But Clarke doesn’t seem to register the pain, she just grips him closer.

Finally Bellamy lifts his head to look at Clarke and the relief and gentleness on his face clenches Raven's stomach.

'You gonna be okay?' he asks her, his voice huskier than usual, pitched above the drumming sound of the rain.

'You know,' Clarke replies, shakily but also as she's smiling, 'I think I am, Bellamy. For the first time, I really think I am.'

Raven stands there, Kyle's arms around her waist, his solid warmth at her back, watching two of the people she loved the most come that one step closer to a beginning. Kyle's head comes to rest on her shoulder and his arms tighten as Raven's vision blurs. She could pretend that it's the rain wetting her face but she won't, doesn’t want to. 

Like Clarke, for the first time, she really thinks she's going to be okay. 

_We're all going to be okay._


	5. Lifeblood (Octavia)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Clarke is in Bellamy's lifeblood just as he is in hers, Octavia is reminded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who has waited so patiently for this chapter - I'm so sorry for the unscheduled trip and God, I hope this is worth the wait.
> 
> I'm sending mucho love right now to every single reader who left kudos and comments on the last chapter. Seriously, guys, I couldn't believe the response to the last chapter - reduced me to tears. I have no words that can describe your kind words and encouragement, just know that you all have a special home in my heart.
> 
> Kay, so this is Chapter 5 - we're almost at the end, guys! 
> 
> Love you all  
> xoxo
> 
> *Disclaimer: Never have I ever been a medical student or doctor nor do I have any medical training. If anything sounds off, I take all responsibility and I apologise in advance. Mwah.*

Octavia knows something is wrong the moment she hears that the hunting party is back.

It has been seven years since they first landed on Earth, six since the fall of Mount Weather, five since a formal peace treaty was made between them and the Trikru. Even then, Earth, it seemed, still liked yanking them around. Tonight reminds her of that fact and why a hunting party is still considered a dangerous thing to be a part of.

Calls for Abby and Jackson rise on the night air accompanied by the pounding beat of feet on hard packed ground.

The fork Octavia's holding falls to her plate with a loud clatter and across her, Lincoln spins in his seat to watch as people run past the doors of the Mess Hall towards the gates.

There is a ugly churning in her stomach and for a second, her belly threatens to throw up what she had just eaten. Then Lincoln reaches across the table, grabs her cold hand and pulls her gently to her feet.

He lays a large hand on the small, hard curve of her belly. She is only fourteen weeks along and has only begun to show. Lincoln moves his hand to cup her face.

'Come.' he says and then they're running with everyone else who had not bedded down for the night.

There's already a crowd forming around the newly returned, arms reaching out to take packs off tired backs, hands pushing tin cups of water at panting chests. The crowd parts and she takes a sharp breath in relief when she sees her brother.

But there is blood on Bellamy's face, on his neck, streaking up his arms and his face is hard and cold as he speaks to Abby. Octavia hears the word 'boar' and the relief turns into dread. And then Abby moves away and she sees the weight of a dark silhouette balanced on a crude stretcher hastily made from what looked like branches and belts.

Blonde hair catches the gleam of firelight and Octavia stops, her heart beating hard in a chest that feels frozen.

She cannot see Clarke's face because her head is slumped, facing away from Octavia, and one hand hangs limply off the edge of the stretcher. She is not moving. She doesn’t even look like she's breathing. As the crowd parts even more, Octavia sees the make-shift tourniquet tied around Clarke's ribs. Blood has already turned the material black.

Then Abby is waving the men forward and they begin to carry Clarke towards the Medical Bay. Abby's face as she passes Octavia is white, she looks haunted and terrified and that fear makes Octavia fight down tears borne from helpless rage.

Haven't they already lost too much?

Would they lose another before this night was over?

Would they lose Clarke who is in the lifeblood of this Camp?

It is Lincoln's warm hand in hers that keeps her grounded. Lincoln, her brave, beautiful husband. Her warrior. Her heart and the father of her unborn child. They have weathered much together and he has been her light when she sees only darkness and her strength when she feels all is lost. She fears that before the dawn, she will need his strength again.

They follow Abby and the others, but they only slip into the Medical Bay and move to stand in the shadows, keeping well away from the team that has placed Clarke on top of the surgical table. Clarke looks so young on that metal slab, her face a sick pale grey and Octavia clamps down the panic when she realises that Clarke's chest barely moves with her breaths.

Even to Octavia's inexperienced eye, she knows that Clarke has already drawn back the Veil and is standing on the edge of the abyss.

She's barely 25, Octavia thinks numbly, this can't be how her life ends. It just can't.

Clarke - selfless, brimming with life, breathtaking Clarke - can't be that pale still creature lying on that cold operating table. Clarke who's hands set Archer's shoulder when he fell off the scaffolding last week, so gently that he barely winched. Who tore into Carla after the bitch almost reduced Lavidia, Monroe's Trikru girlfriend, to tears over a honest mistake. Who's laughter Octavia heard coming from Engineering, two mornings ago, mingling with Raven's. Clarke who, just last night, sat on Bellamy's lap and drank Miller and Murphy under the table while Bellamy laughed his ass off.

Oh God, Bellamy.

Octavia's gaze whips to her brother who is also keeping out of the way on the other side of the room. He is standing, eyes fixed on Clarke's still body as Abby cuts open her daughter's shirt, and his hands are clenched into white fists at his sides. There is tension thrumming in every line of his body. In startling contrast to earlier, there is nothing cold about the way Bellamy looks at Clarke. He looks at her as if she would die if he blinked. Like he could bring her back to him by the force of his will alone. Like he would tear apart the world if she didn’t open her eyes. Half draped in shadow, covered in blood, his hair wild and his eyes burning, Bellamy looks like _need_.

This is not new. Octavia knows her brother is in love with Clarke Griffin. She had watched him slip into love with Clarke as simply and as naturally as breathing. Octavia had seen it coming the day she watched Clarke run into Bellamy's arms all those years ago. She was not too surprised at Clarke's reaction to finding Bellamy alive - although how is it that Clarke was her friend first but Bellamy gets the epic hug? The thought amuses her today as much as it did back then.

However, what had her watching closely was her brother's reaction. He had frozen, arms suspended as if unable to believe that it was really Clarke and unsure where to put his arms. Then she saw as the truth set in before his eyes close in relief and, hesitation gone, Bellamy's arms slam close around Clarke with enough force that he had brought the blonde up to her toes. As far as Octavia can remember, Bellamy had never touched anyone unrelated to them like that before, had never held anyone tight to him like he was holding on to a lifeline. He had all but buried his face in her hair and Octavia had smirked when Bellamy took a not-so-hidden breath of Clarke's hair. Well, well, Octavia remembers thinking, who would have thought? Bellamy had laughed but Octavia had wondered if Clarke had heard that his voice was huskier than usual. Then they pull back from each other but keep eye contact, Bellamy had said something, pressing his hand against Clarke's arm as if he still needed physical contact, as if her attention was anywhere else but firmly on him and Octavia had almost rolled her eyes at them. She had known then that this would take forever to happen.

Watching Clarke was somewhat more entertaining as where Bellamy followed his heart willingly, Clarke waged war on hers. It was when Octavia remembers the weight of responsibility on Clarke's shoulders and what happened the last time that she had been in love that her internal battle does not seem so amusing anymore. So Octavia watched Clarke fight her feelings for Bellamy until two years ago when a rainstorm washed away more than just the heat of summer. Something had changed and Clarke stopped pretending she didn’t watch Bellamy when he wasn’t looking, didn’t stop herself reaching for him when she needed. Yet, as far as Octavia knows, nothing more was said and Clarke and Bellamy became the most official unofficial couple in the history of ever.

They seem content enough about the status of their relationship. But during times when they are amongst those unfamiliar with their history, Octavia has seen the way Clarke's eyes drift to Bellamy too often when other women are paying him too much attention or the way a silent muscle ticks in her brother's jaw when other warriors blatantly express an interest in Clarke. For all that they are to each other, for all that they give and receive from each other, Bellamy and Clarke cannot stake a formal claim on each other beyond that of friends and partners. Octavia had known that that fact would soon begin to burn and had hoped that one of them would have broken by now and would have made a declaration.

God, if only one of them had broken. She thinks of standing where Bellamy is now, watching Lincoln on that table and her hand spasms. Lincoln, as if knowing where her thoughts went, squeezes her fingers tight enough that the pain brings her back.

'Abby.'

Her attention moves back to the operating table and Jackson has placed a hand over Abby's. Abby is still holding the scissors that she used to cut open Clarke's shirt and her eyes are scanning her daughter's torso, pale but for the angry red-black mess from which blood trickles steadily, before the medical assist moves to place pressure on the wound, covering it.

'Abby.' Jackson repeats gently, 'I can't allow you to operate on Clarke. You need to leave. I'm sorry.'

Abby blinks at him and then looks back at her daughter. Then she swallows, nods and places the scissors on the table, stepping away. Jackson breathes out in relief and begins to inspect Clarke's wound when his eyes goes to Bellamy.

'Bellamy, I'm sorry,' he says, 'but you shouldn't be in here too.'

Bellamy's posture tightens even further.

'I'm not leaving.' he replies and his voice is low and hoarse.

Beside Octavia, Lincoln makes a soft noise of approval.

The guards still in the room shift, Bellamy's eyes snap to them and whatever they see in his face makes them freeze.

'I'm not leaving.' Bellamy repeats and now there is a growl in his voice. 'I won't get in the way.'

When Jackson hesitates, an angry sound rumbles from Bellamy's throat and fills the room.

'You're wasting your fucking time.' Bellamy snarls, 'Time _she_ doesn't have, so do your damn job and let me do mine.'

Octavia knows that if they try to remove him now, someone would bleed for it.

Abby steps forward, 'Bellamy stays.' and the authority in her voice is clear even as it breaks.

'Abby,' Jackson whispers urgently, his eyes darting warily to Bellamy, ' _look_ at him.'

'Oh, trust me, I am.' she tells her assistant softly, 'And he stays.'

Jackson inhales deeply, nods and joins the medical trainee who is now placing instruments on the cart.

Abby moves to the guards. 'Get Octavia.' she instructs.

Octavia feels Lincoln squeeze her fingers before letting go and she steps out of the shadows.

'No need.' she announces, 'I'm here.'

Abby moves towards her and Octavia feels Bellamy's attention shift to her before going back to the silent girl on the table.

'I need you to assist Jackson on this.' Abby says in a low voice.

Octavia does not know why Abby chose her when they have a medical assist who is more trained than she is. But she nods because this is Clarke, this is Bellamy, and she would stab Jackson in the throat with a scalpel before she lets him call Clarke's time. Perhaps, she thinks as she moves towards the two person team at the table, this is why Abby wants her there.

Behind her, Abby leaves the room. There is the soft sound of rustling material and she knows Lincoln is now sitting cross-legged on the floor of the room. She knows he will not move until they are done here tonight. This is the man she loves and married.

When the medical trainee - Mel, she remembers - moves to make space for her, Octavia looks up to meet Bellamy's eyes. He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t need to. Its written in the taut lines of his face, the dry, glittering eyes, his whitened lips.

She knows better to make a promise she cannot keep but Octavia cannot stop herself.

'I won't let anything bad happen to her.' she vows quietly.

Bellamy holds her gaze and then he nods once before he drops his eyes back to Clarke.

For the next three hours, they work feverishly. Jackson cleans the wound, clamps the internal bleeding, stiches the damaged internal tissue and finally closes the jagged cut with neat precise stiches. It is tiring, bloody work and before long, Octavia's feet are aching and a muscle sends knife sharp jabs into her back. When Jackson has slowed their frantic pace to calm, precise movements, she glances at her brother who is sitting on the empty bed next to them, elbows on his knees. He has not moved since they began working, hasn't torn his eyes away from Clarke.

Octavia had spent a lot of her years on Earth trying to figure out who she was, where her home lay, who her real people are. She had been an Arker, a Delinquent, a Grounder, Clanless. It had taken time but Octavia finally figured it out a couple of years ago. She is none and all of them. She is a child of both Sky and Ground. Her loyalty lies with her people and her people are her family and friends, regardless of the Clan they belong to. Her home is where her husband lays his head because Lincoln is her home. She is a wife and a warrior, she has taken lives and she has helped create one. She is a woman and a sister. A friend to many and an enemy to others. Octavia knows who she is because she understands what makes her the woman she is.

And looking at Clarke and her brother, Octavia can understand that they are a part of each other in the same way Lincoln is a part of her. Bellamy would have never become the man he is now if Clarke had not been by his side, his guiding light. It was she who inspired him to look beyond his own circle, who showed him what it meant to be a true leader. In those first days, she had been his muse and Octavia doubts that has changed. And just as Lincoln helped Octavia discover the strength she already had, Bellamy's support and belief in Clarke amplified the power of her resolve and heart. Without him, Clarke could have become a different person. Clarke had been integral in shaping Bellamy's self just as much as he was in shaping hers. And it was because of how deeply they were imprinted in each other's personas , Octavia knows that if they lose Clarke, a part of Bellamy dies as well.

The thought numbs the ache in Octavia's feet and back to a dull throb and she bows her head again over Clarke's torso.

By the time Jackson ties off the last stitch, Octavia has lost track of time and her eyes are burning. She joins Mel and Jackson at the sink and washes Clarke's blood off her hands. Lincoln, from his seat on the floor, gives her a nod. He too has not moved. Octavia sinks into the mattress next to Bellamy. She doesn’t know what to say so she presses her arm against his much larger frame in silent support.

'She thought she was going to die.' Bellamy suddenly says, voice hoarse, gaze still on Clarke.

Whatever she thought he was going to say, it was not that and all she can stupidly say is 'What?'

Bellamy takes a deep breath. He finally looks away from Clarke but only to drop his head, eyes closed.

'Clarke.' he clarifies quietly. 'She thought she was going to die. We were tracking a deer. Someone let off a shot to herd it to us and then the boar was there. When we got to her...she looked down at herself and told me she wasn't going to make it - that she only had twenty minutes at the most and we - we wouldn’t be able get her back to camp in time. She didn’t even want us to try.' Bellamy's head turns to her and Octavia inhales at the impotent rage haggard on his face, 'Clarke looks me in the fucking eye, O, and tells me she's going to die. And that there was nothing I could do to stop it. Christ.'

Octavia wraps her fingers around his bicep and squeezes, hard. She can only imagine what a situation like that could do to anyone, especially to a man like Bellamy. She can feel the helplessness of his fury, the anger at his own inability to fix what had happened, the hope struggling to breathe under the crushing weight of the circumstances, the dread of a heart waiting to be broken.

'She started giving me messages,' Bellamy continues roughly, ' to her mother, to Raven, to you - '

'To me?' Octavia repeats, unable to stop the interruption.

Bellamy's eyes opens and fixes on the floor. He cannot seem to look at her. 'Yeah. The gist is she's proud of you, that you'd make a great mother. And that she wished she could have watched your kid grow up.'

Octavia's eyes begin to burn and her jaw clamps down against the tightening of her throat.

'We took turns carrying her back,' Bellamy tells her, 'and the entire time Clarke was giving me instructions - don't let Raven live inside her head too much, tell Jasper and Monty their last batch was perfect, remember to fix the hinge on the east gate.' A low laugh comes from his throat, 'Jesus, pure Clarke.' He sobers, squeezes his eyes tight and presses the heels of his hands to his eyes. 'She asked me to smile for her. Because she wanted to take that with her when she goes. Fuck.'

'Bellamy.' Octavia whispers, her sight of him strange and painful through dry, burning eyes. 'You got her back in time. Clarke's a fighter, she'll get through this.'

Please, God, don't take her away from us. We need her here - _Bellamy_ needs her, please don't take her away from him.

She places a hand on his arm and Bellamy reaches down to grasp it, hard. The pain shoots up her arm but Octavia doesn’t care. Her heart is hurting too much right now for physical pain to register.

'When she passed out, I - fuck. I've never been so fucking scared, O.' Bellamy grounds out and he sounds shattered.

Octavia knows there are no words that can take away the fear that is riding him. So she scoots closer to her brother, twines her arm around his neck and holds him tight.

The strength of their relationship is not only a result of a shared womb but also of years of fighting. They have fought side by side as well as on opposite sides. Octavia has refused, at the risk of her own life, to leave Bellamy in battle and she has renounced him as her blood. She has lived a tent away from him and she has gone without seeing or speaking to him in months. But she has never stopped loving her brother. She could no more stop loving him than she can stop loving herself. And if she can take on his pain herself, she would do it in a heartbeat.

After a while, Bellamy nudges her away gently and tells her to go check on Lincoln. When she gives him a look, he gives her a tired smile and says that he's okay. He's clearly not but Octavia knows her brother, knows that he needs time to pull himself together, to reign in emotion. Because she knows that Clarke can crash at any time and for the safety of everyone in that room, she lets him regain control and goes to Lincoln.

Her husband stands before she reaches him and he looks her over as she walks across the room. As always, his hand comes down to cup her belly and then up to touch her face. He pulls her in close and in his arms, surrounded by the scent of his skin and the warmth of his body, Octavia finally lets go. She fists her hands in his shirt and presses her mouth to his chest as tears wet his tattooed skin, just below where his vow to her is set in permanent ink .

Octavia's relationship with Clarke has not always been smooth. But they have bled too often for each other over the years and their friendship is rooted in mutual respect and genuine affection. It is not only Bellamy's pain that wet Octavia's eyes but her own worry and pain for the silent blonde girl on that operating table.

When she is done, she takes a deep shaky breath and pulls back to look at Lincoln who leans down and kisses her.

'How is she?' he asks quietly.

'Jackson says that if she survives the next couple of hours - if she makes it until dawn, she has a chance.' Octavia whispers. 'We need to monitor her.'

He nods. Her husband understands death on a level that she never will because it is a part of Grounder life. Luckily for her, he also understands the Arkers' adverse reaction to it.

There is movement outside the room and she becomes aware of murmuring voices.

'There are others outside.' Lincoln tells her.

Of course. Word would have spread by now.

She and Lincoln slip out. There are people sitting on the ground, lining the outside walls of the medical bay, all in various states of undress and sleep. Raven, who scrambles to her feet the moment she appears, Kyle Wick following suit. Jasper and Monty who jerk awake at the sudden activity. Miller, Monroe, Murphy, all part of the hunting party and who clearly had not visited their quarters, still in clothes stained with Clarke's blood. Murphy looks clammy and sick. There are others, members of the original 100 and Arkers of the Second Drop both. Octavia is not surprised.

'Well?' Raven demands, reaching her first.

Octavia explains. The moment she finishes, Murphy turns away and shoulders his way through the crowd. Monroe and Miller share a worried look and when Miller gives her a murmured order, Monroe takes off like a shot after Murphy. The crowd watches them leave and there is an awkward silence.

'What was that?' Octavia says, searching the faces in front of her.

'Uh, he kind of blames himself.' Jasper mutters, shifting uncomfortably.

Miller clears his throat. 'The shot that spooked the boar. That was him.' Miller meets her eyes. 'I was with him. We were trying to herd the deer toward the others, we didn’t even know what had happened until we heard everyone shouting. I swear to God, Octavia, we didn't know.'

Murphy was an asshole most of the time. He was a smart-mouth and a jackass and sometimes Octavia contemplated the various ways she could slowly kill him - she probably would have already if she didn't like Emori so much. But when push came to shove, despite extreme bitching, Murphy stood solid. During a mission, he would be the one yelling about leaving them all behind to die whilst continuously and stubbornly saving the ass of whoever stood next to him. The man was loyal, she had to give him that much. They had all changed since they were dropped, Murphy more so than most. She might not trust him not to slip a laxative into her drink but she trusted him enough to watch her back in a fight.

'I'll talk to Bellamy.' she reassured Miller.

Then she turned to everyone else.

'Guys, go to bed.' she held up a hand against all the protests. 'There is nothing else you can do for her and you all need to rest for tomorrow. Raven, don't give me that look, you know Clarke would say the same thing. If anything happens, I promise I'll send for you. Okay? Just go to bed, Clarke would kill you all if you start nodding off during your shifts.'

Amidst the grumbling and mutinous good night calls, Octavia catches Raven's eyes. She makes the dark haired girl a silent promise before she is led away by Wick. Lincoln takes her hand and she shivers.

It's going to be a long night.

****

They almost lose Clarke at 2:18 am.

She crashes twice again after that and the night becomes a seemingly endless circle of watching her with baited breath, feverish chest compressions and counted beats. Octavia is exhausted but she keeps working because she'd be damned if she lets her child grow up in a world that no longer has Clarke Griffin. Or, her eyes went to her brother, one in which his uncle's eyes were haunted.

Each time Clarke crashes, Bellamy stalks the floor like a caged animal and there is so much violence radiating off him that even Octavia hesitates to go near him. After a particularly bad turn where Clarke stopped breathing for 36 seconds, Lincoln crosses the room silently and takes up position behind her brother. There is a wild look in Bellamy's eyes and Lincoln warns her silently to stay away. Octavia understands then that Lincoln is not only there to comfort, he's also there to restrain and contain. Her husband has the best chance of physically leashing the storm her brother has the capability of becoming. So Octavia obeys the unspoken command because Bellamy reminds her of a bow string pulled too tautly. She has a child now growing within her and if something should happen, she nor Bellamy would ever recover from it.

She sits down and, without meaning to, slips quietly into sleep. It seems like seconds later when she is being gently nudged awake. She comes to with a start but it is only Lincoln who crouches down beside her, stroking her hair. She begins to panic when she sees Jackson standing at Clarke's side but he only seems to be taking precursory notes and nodding approvingly. Bellamy is back to sitting on the bed and when she looks at him, he gives her a tired smile. It's small, there are shadows under his eyes and he looks older than before she fell asleep but the smile was real.

'Octavia.' Lincoln whispers and when she looks at him, he holds up a finger, 'listen.'

And Octavia hears them. Chirps. Twitters. Birds. Fucking music to her ears. Her eyes shoot to the window and outside, the sky has lightened.

Dawn.

Clarke made it through the night.

'Lincoln.' she whispers and even though she knows its not over yet, the relief is almost too much.

Thank you, God.

'The worst part is over.' Jackson announces, finishing his examination. 'She's just sleeping now.'

'What now?' Bellamy asks croakily.

'Now we wait.' Jackson replies, rubbing his eyes with the back of a hand. 'She's not out of the woods yet but she has a fighting chance of coming out of this whole. Give her some time, her body still needs to recover and it's doing that by sleeping.'

'She'll wake up when she's ready.' A new voice says and Octavia turns her head to see Abby standing in the doorway.

Clarke's mother walks into the room and squeezes Jackson's arm gratefully.

'Thank you. 'she says, 'Go get some rest, I can take it from here.'

Jackson agrees with a nod and smile. 'Your girl's a fighter, Abby. She did wonderfully tonight.'

He leaves and Abby crosses over to Clarke. Octavia watches as she brushes a hand over her daughter's hair and leans down to press a kiss on her forehead. Her hands tremble. Then she looks at Bellamy who is watching her warily.

'You also need to rest, Bellamy,' Abby says gently, 'You're about to fall over and I've cleared you for bed rest for the rest of the day.'

Bellamy does look like he was about to drop but Octavia knew he would do so before leaving Clarke so soon.

'Abby,' he says, 'please don't ask me to leave now.'

Abby raises a brow, 'Who said anything about leaving?' She looks pointedly at the bed Bellamy is currently sitting on. 'I said, you need to rest.'

For the first time since they brought Clarke in, Bellamy looks amused. He shakes his head, mutters about Griffin women and their sarcasm but also thanks Abby.

'But I can't do bed rest today,' he continues quietly, ' my next shift is at ten and - '

'Your next shift is at seven tomorrow morning, Bellamy.' Abby interrupts. 'And the rest of your shifts today are being covered by your friends.'

'I can't let them -'

'Yes, you can.' Abby says, 'They've already divided it up amongst themselves last night and cleared it with everyone involved. They're also Clarke's friends so they are doing this just as much for her. They want to help. So let them, Bellamy.'

He sits quietly for a minute during which Octavia wants to throw her boot at him for being so damn stubborn. Then he exhales and nods.

'All right.' he finally says. 'Okay.'

He looks over at her as he shifts backwards onto the bed and sends her a smile. It means thank you and I love you and get some rest and Octavia replies to it with one of her own.

Abby walks over to her and crouches down. Octavia knows she should stand up but she is so exhausted she doesn’t think she can move. Abby's smile tells her she understands.

'Thank you.' she whispers to Octavia.

Then she looks up at Lincoln, 'Both of you.'

'It's nothing Clarke wouldn’t do for either of us.' Lincoln replies.

'Besides Jackson and Clarke did all the hard work.' Octavia smiles tiredly.

Abby squeezes her hand. 'Please go get some rest.'

'You don't have to ask me twice.' yawns Octavia and then squeaks when Lincoln bends down and, with one arm under her knees and the other across her back, lifts her bodily from the chair.

She would have protested but her feet are swollen and she suspects her ankles would have given way if she tries to stand on her own. Her husband carries her into the first rays of dawn, the smell of cool earth still lingering in the air and Octavia doesn’t think she has ever been so glad to see the sun.

She falls asleep before they make it even halfway across the camp.

****

Clarke doesn’t wake up that day.

Abby says its normal but Octavia knows she, like everyone else, would feel better once Clarke does. There is a steady stream of visitors popping in and out of the medical bay and Clarke is never alone for more than 15 minutes.

In true Bellamy fashion, when he wakes after five hours of uninterrupted sleep, he flatly refuses bed rest even when Abby threatens him with insubordination. Bellamy only raises a sardonic brow at that. She finally gives in when he reminds her that Clarke wouldn't want him to do nothing but sit and watch her sleep. In the end, they compromise - he does not return to his regular shifts but moves around the camp, surveying and attending to things he normally wouldn’t have the time for. The first thing he does is pull a work force together to fix the hinge on the eastern gate. Every two hours, like clock work, he walks through the medical bay.

The one person who does not visit is Murphy although Octavia has seen him linger near the medical bay during random hours. She has spoken to Bellamy about him, knows her brother tried to knock some sense into Murphy's head, but guilt can be an overbearing weight on your shoulders. By some strange twist of fate, Monroe - calm, stoic, moral-to-a-fault Monroe - had become an almost pseudo sister to Camp Jaha's resident ex-sociopath and she was doing a good job of keeping Murphy above water for now. Emori wasn't back yet from visiting her brother in the Dead Zone and she was their best bet in getting Murphy off his self-imposed pariah path. Octavia lets him be for the most part.

****

Clarke doesn’t wake up the next day either, or the next, and everyone is getting antsy.

Bellamy returns to normal duties but his mood is dark and has snarled more than once at Jasper and Monty who get louder and exuberant in the face of anxiety. Bellamy also confined Murphy to camp grounds after Murphy had mobilised a hunting party four times in two days and had returned with nothing but boar. No one wants to go to Engineering for fear of having their head ripped off by Raven and even Kyle steps softly around her.

On the third day, Octavia wakes with nausea and spends the next two hours in a shaky, sweaty mess. She knows she snaps at Lincoln far too much. Her mood swings must be giving him whiplash - one minute not wanting him to touch her, the next clutching at him like a life line. But Lincoln never wavers and his patience and strength is more than she deserves. Most men would have left the moment she started throwing things but then again, Lincoln was not most men. She finally calms down when the nausea decreases to a manageable level, cradled in his lap, the aftermath of her temper still scattered around them.

Octavia walks into the Medical Bay to see Raven sitting on Clarke's bed, talking in a level tone to the comatose girl. When Raven turns her head to look at her, Octavia sees that despite her voice, her eyes are bright with unshed tears. Raven sighs tiredly and hops off the bed.

'No change?' Octavia asks dully.

'Nope. But you know Clarke, she's going to be okay.' Raven replies in a false bright voice.

Octavia brushes hair away from Clarke's face. 'Have you seen Bellamy?'

'Yeah, you just missed him.' Raven says, smoothing out the sheet around Clarke's leg. 'He looks like shit.' She cocks her head to the side, 'Just like you.'

'I have morning sickness, what's your excuse?' Octavia shoots back. Then she takes a deep breath, 'Shit. I'm sorry -'

'Don't apologise.' the other girl says with a small laugh, 'I've been snapping at people for the past three days, been trying to bait Kyle into snapping at me but he's not cooperating.' Then she looks back at Clarke. 'Seriously though, Bellamy must be going through hell. He tell you what she said?'

'Yeah, he told me about her messages.'

'Yeah and - wait, that's it?'

Octavia looks at Raven, 'Yeah.' She says slowly. 'So far.'

Raven snorts. 'Leave it to Bellamy to leave out the good part.'

'What part?' Octavia asks, eyes narrowing.

'The part where Clarke told him that she's sorry. That her one regret was wasting so much time being afraid to face her feelings. That she never had the chance to tell him what he means to her. Miller said that she was delirious - completely out of it. I don't think she even knew what she saying. But before she passed out, she told Bellamy not to let her mistake repeat itself. That he deserves a woman who tells him everyday what he means to her.'

And Octavia is done.

She spins on her heel and marches out, ignoring Raven's 'Hey, where are you going?'. She stomps right over to the main gates where she knows Bellamy is beginning his shift.

'Bellamy Blake!' she yells up at the Guard Room, hands on hips. 'Get your ass down here!'

The guards lining the walls all turn their head and the sound of work come to a stop.

'Oh, this is going to be good.' Raven mutters behind her.

A dark head appears over the railing and Bellamy is glaring down at her. 'The hell, O?'

'Down!' she yells again.

Kane joins Bellamy and he claps the younger man on the shoulder. 'Looks like you better go see what your sister wants.' he grins.

'Kane -'

'It's never a good thing to keep a pregnant woman waiting.' Kane interrupts. 'Trust me, the longer you leave Octavia to stew, the harder it's going to be in the end. For you.'

He is glaring daggers at her when Bellamy finally makes it down to her. She ignores it and grabs his arm, dragging him along with her back to the Medical Bay, Raven at their heels. Bellamy glances over to Clarke then back at her.

'Start talking.' he snarls. 'I'm in the middle of a shift, damn it.'

'You have to tell her.' Octavia snaps back, pointing at Clarke's prone form.

Bellamy looks at her like she's finally cracked. 'Clarke? Tell her what?'

'Tell her how you feel - how you really feel about her.'

'Ahh hell.' Bellamy exhales roughly. He scrubs at his face. 'Octavia, now is not the time for this.'

He makes to move past her but Octavia yanks him back. She's not going to let him out of that room until she got through to him.

'No time like the present, Bellamy.' Raven says from behind her. 'Or did you somehow fall out of love when we weren't looking?

Bellamy looks like he wants to shake her but he remains silent. That’s fine, Octavia wasn't expecting an answer, she already knew what it would be.

'I thought so.' she mutters and Bellamy turns his glare on her.

'Can't do this shit right now, O.' he growls and pushes past Octavia.

He nearly makes it to the door but finds his exit blocked, Lincoln filling the doorway, his eyes apologetic but his face otherwise unyielding. He must have been looking for her and had caught the conversation. Octavia throws her husband a grateful smile.

'Out of my way, brother.' Bellamy rumbles warningly but Lincoln remains planted.

'When I said you would have a fight on your hands with her,' Lincoln tells him quietly, 'I was not only talking about Clarke. I was also talking about you fighting your own instincts. Even your instinct to protect her.'

Before the tension in the rooms reaches a dangerous level, Abby is slipping into the room behind Lincoln, throwing everyone in the room a censuring look.

'If you want whatever's said to stay in this room, keep your voices down. The entire camp is on alert.' she mutters. She moves past them to Clarke, sweeping a hand across her forehead, seeming to ignore them all.

Before Octavia can say anything further, Raven grabs Bellamy's arm.

'Stay out of this, Reyes.' Bellamy turns on her, tearing his arm out of her grip. 'This isn't any of your business.'

'Clarke is my business.' Raven snaps back, 'We almost lost her, Bellamy - you almost lost her. And don't tell me that if we had, we wouldn't have lost a huge part of you too. Everyone here knows it - you would have never come back from that, not really.' She grabs his arm again. 'So, how much more time are you planning on wasting? Or are you planning on carrying on like this forever? Not being able to touch each other even though you're both burning to, pretending everything is okay every time a pair of Grounder warriors ride up but you're obviously wondering if your luck has run out and this time you won't have a way out, watching everyone around you begin to find love and they aren't hindered - .'

'Fucking hell!' Bellamy yells and he steps back to glare hotly at everyone in the room. 'Alright, lets do this. Yeah, I'm aware of how close I came to losing her, thanks. I'm aware that I'm in love with her and I'm aware of how hard it fucking is, not being able to love her the way I want to. I'm aware that that she feels the same way. You,' he jabs a finger at Raven viciously, 'don't need to tell me that. I know.'

'Bellamy.' Octavia whispers, her lungs hurting at the furious frustration on his face.

'I'm also aware,' Bellamy continues, ignoring Octavia, 'that Clarke is not ready to hear the words. I'm aware that she's not ready to say the words. I know Clarke. If she's hesitating, there's a good reason why - starting with the fact that every semblance of relationship she's had screwed her over and ending with her need to make sure that our people are living, not just surviving, before she starts thinking of herself. So, I'm also fucking aware that this is hard on her and I'm not gonna make it even harder by pushing her. So yeah, Raven, I'm planning on carrying on like this until she's ready - even if that means waiting forever.'

'You don't have forever.' Octavia retorts. 'You almost didn't have tomorrow. You need to do this, Bellamy, and you need to do it soon.'

'Octavia,' Bellamy presses the heel of his hand against to his eyes, 'now is not the right time to talk about this, okay? Maybe later -'

'Bellamy, it is 'later'!' she cries, exasperated, 'You're living ' _later_ '! Look around you! How much more of a society do we need to build before you realise the hard part's done?'

'Doesn't mean it's the right time.' Bellamy snaps.

'Then when, Bellamy?' Raven presses, 'This is the best we've had so far - there's no one trying to kill us or eat us, there's no one we're trying to rescue, there are no more rebellions to quell or wars to fight- this is the perfect fucking time.'

'She's right,' agrees Octavia, 'And Clarke's a smart girl - after everything you two have been through, you can't honestly think she's putting you in the same boat as Finn and Lexa. They just weren't right for her, they weren't you. So, when are you going to give Clarke the words you keep swallowing?'

'Christ, I just want her to wake up, Octavia!' Bellamy yells.

Octavia stares at him. Bellamy is breathing hard and he tilts his head up, hands on hips.

'I just want her to wake up.' he repeats quietly to the ceiling. 'I can't think of anything else. I can't think of what could have been if I had told her sooner because regrets will just drive me out of my fucking mind. I can't think of what might happen after she wakes up because all I can think of is her waking up. Right now, Jesus, all I want is for her to open her eyes, O.'

Chest aching at the anguish in his voice, Octavia wraps a protective arm around her belly.

'I understand what you're doing, Bellamy,' Abby finally speaks and her voice is soft. She weaves her way between Raven and Octavia to him, 'and I love you for it.' She lays a hand on Bellamy's cheek, 'My daughter could not have picked a better person for herself.' she murmurs and Octavia watches the myriad of emotions that flash across Bellamy's face. 'You have been extremely patient. But you need to start getting impatient soon. Life is fleeting - everyday you two are risking your chance with each other. Don't risk the chance to build a family with her.'

Octavia watches as Bellamy's eyes dart back to her and linger on the soft swell of her belly. He closes his eyes briefly and his head bows and Octavia's lungs burn at the naked longing that flashed across his face before it had disappeared under a fall of black hair. She walks over to him, takes his hand and his head comes up, she is looking up into dark eyes the exact shape of her own.

'Clarke may be in the lifeblood of this camp, but you are in hers.' Octavia whispers, 'Do you know why I'm so sure you're the right one for Clarke?' she continues without pausing, 'Because you've never loved her the way she wanted you to, you've always loved her the way she needed. So, tell me, big brother,' she leads him to Clarke's sleeping form,' after everything that's happened to Clarke, after everything's she's said to you when she thought she was dying - how does she need to be loved now?'

She does not wait for him to answer - she turns, tilts her chin at Raven and Abby, takes her husband's hand and leaves Bellamy standing at Clarke's bedside.

****

Nearly a fortnight passes when Monroe comes streaking into the Armoury.

'Clarke's awake!' she blurts out before her braids have even stopped bouncing.

Octavia drops the spear that she had been cleaning and bolts out the room after Monroe as fast as she can.

'I was going to see if I could get an early dinner - 'cause I was starving, see?,' Monroe chatters excitedly, 'when Abby comes out of Medical and grabs me. She tells me to get you and I see Clarke awake! She even waved at me!'

'Are Lincoln and Bellamy back yet?' huffs Octavia, sweat already beading on her forehead as she tries to keep up with the exuberant girl.

'Nah - but they should be soon! Man, Bellamy is going to be stoked!'

That was one way to put it, Octavia thinks wryly.

Lincoln had talked Bellamy into a hunt - Bellamy needed to get rid of excess energy and the camp wanted to eat something other than pork. Although Bellamy hesitated to leave camp while Clarke was still under, he agreed. Ever since their blow up in the Medical Bay, Bellamy hadn't been avoiding Octavia and Raven but he certainly hasn’t sought them out either.

Octavia follows Monroe into the Medical Bay. Abby is standing at Clarke' bedside but looks over her shoulder at their noisy entrance. She smiles at them and the relief on her face is so painfully obvious that Octavia remembers that this is a woman who watched men carry her daughter, covered in blood. Then Abby moves and Octavia sees Clarke.

Clarke, eyes open and who is smiling at her.

'Hey, O,' Clarke rasps, 'how's baby doing?'

And to her mortification and shock, Octavia bursts into tears.

'Fuck, I'm sorry, Clarke,' she gasps out from behind her fingers, 'I don’t even know why I'm crying.'

Arms circle her shoulders and Abby is murmuring soft words of comfort and herding her gently further into the room. A warm hand, palms and fingers calloused, wrap around her own and pulls it down from her face.

'Hey, I'm okay.' Clarke soothes. 'I'll be on my feet in no time.'

'I know, I know.' Octavia pulls in a deep, shuddering breath and smiles down at Clarke through her tears.

The blonde girl lying on the bed is pale but her eyes are clear and there a definite pink on her cheekbones. Her smile is familiar and her touch is warm and Octavia finally believes they dodged a bullet. Clarke's going to be okay.

'Bellamy?' Clarke asks and Octavia can't help but smile.

'He's out with Lincoln.' she explains, 'He's been…touchy lately.'

'I'll bet.' Clarke snorts.

'He should be back soon.' Abby, who is currently pouring over Clarke's chart, murmurs from Clarke's other side, 'I sent for him before I got a hold of Monroe.'

'Thanks, Mum.' Clarke whispers and Abby cups her cheek in response.

There is the sound of pounding feet seconds before Bellamy appears in the doorway of the medical bay. He stands stock still, hair mussed, colour staining high cheekbones, eyes on Clarke who turns her head to see him. The moment their eyes meet, the temperature in room rises. He and Lincoln must have already been on their way back when Abby's scout found them. Even then, Octavia sees the sweat darkening his shirt, the breath coming harder than usual. He must have ran all the way back.

Abby murmurs something softly before crossing the room. She gives Bellamy's arm a gentle squeeze before she exits the room. Octavia's presence is all but forgotten as Bellamy comes in deeper into the room with precise measured steps. His face is hard, fierce and his eyes are hot and liquid. Octavia recognises the look on his face - it's replica is mirrored on her own after a hard battle, when the relief of survival pierces her like an arrow. And Bellamy looks like Clarke like she holds his survival. Clarke, in contrast, is smiling, her face tired but soft and her gunmetal coloured eyes are serene in a way Octavia has never seen before. Bellamy's rifle is still slung across his back and the clinking sound it makes against his back with every step is the only sound in the room. He comes to stand by Clarke's bed and whatever is being said between them is said completely in looks.

Typical. Octavia rolls her eyes mutely.

Bellamy reaches out and splays a hand against Clarke's chest, fingers reaching the base of her throat, feeling her chest rise, before lifting it to rest against her cheek. Clarke closes her eyes and leans further into his touch. She turns her head slightly and presses a kiss to his wrist.

Octavia's eyebrows shoot up.

This was new.

There is a strange smile on Clarke's face as she keeps her mouth pressed to Bellamy's skin. By the hitch in Bellamy's breathing, Octavia knows this is new for him too. Hmm. Maybe not all was lost after all. Then Clarke finally leans back and opens her eyes, that strange smile still on her lips.

'How are you feeling?' Bellamy breaks the silence and his voice is hoarse.

'Like I got gored by a boar.' Clarke quips and then grimaces when she becomes the target of twin glares. 'Sorry. Too early, huh?'

'Never would be too early.' Octavia grumbles.

'Almost lost you there, Clarke.' Bellamy mutters, ' Jesus.'

The blonde's smile dims but doesn’t disappear completely. One hand shifts, slips into Bellamy's and Clarke twines her fingers with his. Octavia looks at their joined hands and sees just how right they looked together, how well Clarke's tanned hand fits in her brother's larger one.

Then Clark laughs huskily, 'I'm starting to realise,' she murmurs, almost ruefully, 'that my heart would make my body crawl out of it's grave if that's what it took to get back to you.'

Octavia's lungs compress and her eyes fly to Bellamy. He stares down at Clarke silently, lips parted. Then he blinks, shaking his head slightly as if shaking himself out of a daze and huffs out a small laugh.

'Clarke,' he starts but stops when Clarke lets go of his hand to try and push herself up on her elbows. 'Jesus Christ, woman, you just woke up after I watched you almost bleed to death not two weeks ago.' he snaps, helping the blonde shift herself up the bed, ' Can you grant me a day before your next attempt to kill me?'

'I'm trying to make a point, Bellamy,' Clarke snaps back, now in a sitting position, 'I can't very well do that whilst flat on my back, now can I?'

'If I respond to that,' he mutters, carding a hand through his hair. 'I'm going to hell.'

Well, Octavia thinks amusedly, that went downhill fast.

Then she looks at Clarke and her brother and realises just how much has changed in the minutes they had been in each other's company. Clarke is no longer pale, her cheeks are almost flushed and her eyes are bright even as she rolls them at him. Gone is the tightness in Bellamy's shoulders and he might be looking exasperated, but there is also humour in the set of his mouth and Octavia realises that the last time she had seen him smile was the morning they knew Clarke had made it through the worst.

Clarke is in Bellamy's lifeblood just as he is in hers, Octavia is reminded.

'Could you shut up for two seconds?' Clarke is now groaning, flicking a finger at Bellamy.

'God, I always knew you were a closet romantic.' Bellamy laughs but he captures her finger and tugs it towards him, pressing his mouth to it. Then his sharp grin gentles and his voice softens, 'Clarke, I'm -'

'Mine.' Clarke interrupts. 'You. Are. Mine.' she slowly enunciates, as if daring him to disagree with her.

Bellamy stares down at her, his eyes heat and that hard, fierce look is back on his face. 'Yes.' he agrees quietly, his voice a rumble like distant thunder. 'I'm yours.'

Oh God, this is actually going to happen. Octavia has to bite down on her lip to stop the laugh that bubbles up in her throat, relief and near-disbelief - disbelief that this is really happening _now_ after all these years - crashing over her in a tidal wave. Her heartbeat is so loud that Octavia is worried for a second that Clarke and her brother will remember that they are not alone in the room.

But Clarke only pulls in a breath slowly, a weird look of relief on her face - she couldn't have really thought Bellamy could have belonged to anyone else, could she? - before she lets it go in a shaky laugh.

'And if I wasn't being clear earlier,' the blonde breathes, once again tangling her fingers with Bellamy's, 'I'm yours. In everyway possible.'

Octavia lowers her eyes at the look on Bellamy's face at Clarke's words. She knows she should quietly slip out of the room, that she's intruding on a private moment but her feet can't move and she's almost afraid to make them try, worried that any movement she'll make might break the spell Clarke and Bellamy seem to be under. So, when she lifts her eyes again, she only watches as Bellamy traces Clarke's bottom lip with his thumb, as Clarke's lips part and she bites down playfully on the tip of his thumb before releasing it to rest on her smiling mouth.

'Clarke,' Bellamy begins and his voice is hoarse.

'I'm in love with you, Bellamy.'

At Clarke's firm announcement, Octavia's heartbeat becomes a drumming in her ears, Bellamy falls mute in the middle of his sentence and the silence in the room becomes deafening. Raven appears in Octavia's peripheral view and from the look on her face, she has heard Clarke's words. The mechanic widens her eyes excitedly at Octavia who glares at her to remain silent.

'I promised myself that if I made it, I was going to tell you the first chance I get.' Clarke says quietly. She turns her head to give Raven a smile and then continues talking, undeterred by their bigger audience. 'I love you, I need you and I want you.' Clarke continues calmly to Bellamy who is standing, frozen, above her. 'I want to wake up next to you every morning. I want to be in your bed and in your heart and I want you to be the person in mine.' She grabs his hand, 'I want laughs and fights and being boring with you.' Clarke pauses,' And I want sex with you. Lots of it.' Bellamy's laugh sounds strangled and Octavia holds back a snort. 'I want us, Bellamy. I want us more than anything.' Clarke goes on hurriedly, 'And if I'm being selfish, I'm okay with that. You're the only thing I want for myself.' Her voice drops to a whisper. 'I'm so sorry it took me so long, but I'm trying to make up for it now. Give me a chance, Bellamy. Tell me I'm not too late.'

Octavia is grinning so hard her face starts to hurt and somehow Raven has made it into the room and is clasping her hand.

Bellamy's back is still ramrod straight and he isn't moving, he is just standing, staring down at Clarke. Octavia is about to shove him when he suddenly moves. In a fluid motion, his hand is back on Clarke's cheek, thumb under her chin and tilting it up and simultaneously places the other on the headboard of the bed, above Clarke' head. He leans in deep, his face almost directly above Clarke's.

'Worth every fucking second.' he mutters and then his mouth is on hers.

The room erupts into cheers, making Octavia start. She turns around to see the Bay much more occupied than she initially thought. The first line is crowded with Lincoln, Monty, Jasper, and Miller, who she knows for a fact is currently supposed to still be on guard duty on the eastern gate. Abby has returned to the room and she smiling behind steepled fingers over her mouth, eyes and cheeks wet. Octavia also glimpses Harper's grin behind Monty and even Murphy's spikes of black hair sulking near the back.

Octavia turns back around and realises that she should not have worried earlier about disturbing Bellamy and Clarke. The couple are seemingly oblivious to their audience. Bellamy is still leaning over Clarke, a hand fisted in her blonde hair at the base of her neck and Clarke has one hand on his shoulder, the other on the side of his neck. Then Clarke arches up into Bellamy's touch, a growl comes from Bellamy's chest, the kiss visibly deepens and Octavia remembers that these are two people who have waited years for each other. She blinks and clears her throat, ready to herd the crowd back out. She turns and sends her husband a silent message and Lincoln nods, his grin not dimming in the least.

'Seriously, guys? Can we have a fucking minute?'

Octavia looks over her shoulder to see Bellamy, now straightened, though he keeps on hand on Clarke's thigh. His hair is unruly from Clarke's fingers, he's breathing harder than usual and his eyes seem almost glassy although they are sharpening quick and focused on her and the crowd in the room. He doesn't seen too happy at being interrupted. Octavia can't blame him but quickly transfers her gaze to Clarke. She loves her brother and she's never been happier for him, but God ew, she doesn’t need to see him like that. She's unfortunately walked in on him in more compromising positions in the past but somehow, this moment with Clarke deserves even more privacy than anything he's ever done with any other female. Clarke, on the other hand Octavia sees, is grinning, cheeks flushed, lips red.

'Oh no, you don't, Blake.' Raven snips, crossing her arms over her chest and sticking a hip out. 'I'm invested in this almost as much as you two are.'

Clarke laughs, the warmth of her laughter filling the room like sunlight. She wraps her fingers around the hand Bellamy has on her thigh, using it to pull him down to her again. 'Raven has a point.'

Bellamy shakes his head but he is leaning down. 'One of these days, I'm gonna learn how to say no to you.' he mutters before his lips meet Clarke's and the room descends into a raucous cheer again.

Octavia joins in this time before she is stepping back and turning to Lincoln. 'Get me out of here before I go blind.' she shouts over Jasper and Monty's wolf whistles.

And Jesus, is that really Miller catcalling?

Her husband laughs, brushes his hand over her belly and swings an arm around her neck. They shoulder their way through their friends and Octavia doesn't look back because really, ew, she doesn't need to watch her brother make out with one of her best friends. But she also doesn't look back because for the first time since landing on the ground, something has clicked into place and Octavia feels like her brother is finally safe.

****

'Everything looks good.'

Octavia opens one eye to peer at Abby who is smoothing her tunic back down over her belly which has grown significantly over the last three months. 'That's what you said at my last examination. Two days ago.'

'Well, it never hurts to be cautious.' Abby replies with a smile over her shoulder.

Octavia sighs and heaves herself up. Her child isn't going to be the first Ground-born but Abby certainly acts like it. Octavia indulges her because if she's being honest, motherhood is a lot scarier than she anticipated. She suspects that Lincoln thinks the same of fatherhood when he had walked in her sniffing and rubbing her stomach last week. He had thought she was in pain and had almost started bellowing for Abby. After she explained she felt the baby kick, he replied dazedly that it was different seeing other pregnant women cry who aren't his wife. Her husband is an intelligent man so Octavia gives him time and waits for her words to sink in. It doesn’t take long and his reaction to feeling his child's move under his hand for the first time doesn’t disappoint. It was one of the few times she had ever seen him cry.

She walks out of the Medical Bay, promising Abby to keep her iron levels up by eating more fish, and halts outside the building. It is nearing sunset, the late afternoon light peeking through the trees surrounding the camp is a warm gold and dew of night has already set in on the breeze. Work is slowly coming to a stop for the evening, and many of the camp's inhabitants have already joined in the ball game in the open courtyard of the Camp.

Then there is the sound of children laughing and Octavia turns her head towards the Main Gate. The hunting party is back, preceded by Ark kids who have to run in front of the longer-legged adults. Lincoln sees her within seconds and his gaze is warm on her as she stands there in the dappled sunlight, one hand on a belly that is no longer just a small bump. Lincoln had once told her that twins ran in his family and after her initial terror, she begins silently hoping that maybe it could be in their case. She has not asked Abby for the gender of her child - gender can't make her love her baby any less and Lincoln is only concerned that his child and wife survive the birthing.

Her husband hands off his pack to a teen who has come running from the Kitchens and heads towards her. Octavia remembers when she had first saw him, the coldness and terror that had set in, emotions that are so far away from what she feels now when she sees him that they aren't even in the same stratosphere. She knows that she and Lincoln have been through a lot, they've lost each other multiple times only to come full circle to one another. The years have taught her that she could never love any man more than the one walking towards her now. That no man could ever truly understand her and want her more than her husband. Lincoln was her first real love and, through war and peace, he would be her last.

Lincoln reaches her, leans in to nuzzle her neck and she feels the warmth of his hand as it comes to rest on top of her own over her belly. As he pulls back, Octavia sees Bellamy disengage from the hunting party to walk towards Miller as the Second in Command briefs him.

'No nasty surprises this time, huh?.' she murmurs.

Lincoln's accession is a murmur and a kiss pressed into her hair.

Then Clarke is walking out of the ship, heading towards Bellamy and Miller. She calls out a snarky remark to Murphy about another boar hunt and her laugh mingles with Emori's when Murphy smoothly flips her off. She reaches Bellamy and Miller and her brother, like a million times before, shifts his body to accommodate her. They stand there and they look like they do every other day as they listen to Miller - a unit and a partnership. However, after Bellamy claps Miller on the shoulder and the other man is dismissed, Bellamy turns to Clarke and the look they exchange says that they are more. He cups her face between his palms, kisses her on the forehead as Clarke's husky laugh reaches Octavia and Lincoln on the wind. Then the blonde is tilting her head back, going up on her toes as her hands fist in the material of Bellamy's shirt, low on his waist. Bellamy meets Clarke halfway, leaning down, and he is kissing her, uncaring that they are standing in the middle of the main walkway of the camp and that other people have to skirt around them, grinning as they continue on the concrete path.

Octavia grins too and leans into her husband's solid body. Lincoln slips an arm around her neck and tugs her closer into his side. As she watches her brother with Clarke, another piece in Octavia clicks into place like a puzzle piece finally shifting into place to complete the picture.

She smiles.

****

One balmy night, months later, a full moon hanging low over Camp Jaha, Octavia gives birth to twins.

Lincoln finally shifts from his place behind her, there are red grooves on his forearms from Octavia's nails but he does not seem to notice them as Abby places his first-born, a girl, in his arms. Octavia, more exhausted than she has ever been but also strangely exhilarated, watches, smiling, as Lincoln stares at his tiny daughter. Then Clarke is gently placing their newborn son into the cradle of his other arm, Lincoln's eyes close and Octavia's lungs burn at the emotion that crosses her husband's face.

'Ai sonraun.' he whispers to their children and bends to kiss them gently on their tiny foreheads.

Then he is crossing the room, gently transfers their son into Octavia's arms and leans in to press his lips against her sweaty forehead.

'Ai sonraun.' Lincoln repeats softly.

_My life._

Octavia reaches up, traces a finger against the tattoo inked at the base of Lincoln's neck. She doesn’t need to reply, he knows what she wants to say with that one touch. She looks over at their daughter cradled in her father's strong arms and then down at their son and she breathes out a tired laugh. God, she can't remember ever being so happy.

'We need to name them.' Lincoln whispers, still not tearing his eyes away from his daughter.

'Sonraun. For our girl.' Octavia murmurs.

Lincoln's eyes rise up to meet hers. 'Sonraun.' he repeats and nods slightly. 'Thank you.' he says, he leans in and she tilts her head for his kiss.

He does not need to thank her, their children have Grounder blood and they will make sure that they know both sides of their heritages.

'And our son?' she prompts when Lincoln pulls back.

Her husband looks up over her shoulder and she turns her head to see that her brother had joined Clarke on the other side of the room. He has an arm around Clarke's waist and his eyes keep flickering between the twins. Octavia is not the first mother since the Ark came to Earth but Bellamy is the first blood uncle.

'August.' Lincoln murmurs and Bellamy jerks like he has been shot.

Clarke is grinning through her tears and Octavia laughs.

'You have my gratitude, brother.' Bellamy says huskily and Lincoln nods.

Then Clarke and Bellamy are moving forward and they claim a child each as Lincoln shifts behind Octavia again on the hospital bed.

'Raven will not be pleased that we have not named either after her.' Lincoln murmurs in her ear.

'Raven can wait for the next one.' she snorts and Lincoln laughs. 'We'll make her a godmother and she won't complain. What do you think of Nyko being another godfather?'

'He will not understand the tradition but considering he arrived two hours ago with enough furs to fill a Communal Hall, he will agree.' Lincoln tells her wryly and Octavia bites down on a laugh.

'Clarke. Bellamy. Raven. Nyko.' Octavia muses. 'Those are some pretty badass godparents.'

'Considering who their mother is, our children are going to need them.' Lincoln teases and Octavia half-heartedly swats at him.

Then they lie back and watch as Clarke and Bellamy hold their twins. Clarke only has eyes for the boy she is cradling but Bellamy's eyes keep turning from his niece to Clarke.

Octavia smirks as she settles back more firmly against her husband. Yeah, she sees where this is going too.

And she can hardly wait.


	6. The Beginning (Clarke)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> She and Bellamy may never fully regain their sanity again - after all the things they have done, they're too far gone. They might be broken forever but God, Clarke thinks, together, they can be whole.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok guys, it took longer than expected but here it is - the last chapter.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who has been on this ride with me - I love you guys so much. This fandom has so many amazing people and I'm so happy to have met some of them.
> 
> To the readers who have seen me through my first fan fic, left kudos, encouraged me to keep writing or demanded more, I would have given up if it wasn't for your presence - this one's for you.
> 
> Love you all and keep on rocking!!
> 
> *Special Note: This chapter earns the real mature rating. Kinda. You have been warned ;).*

Her stomach is in knots.

She doesn't mean to keep it from Bellamy - God, it goes against her nature to keep anything from him. But her throat tightens every time she thinks of telling him and she doesn't even know how to begin.

Bellamy, it was kind of a spur of the moment thing.

_What kind of idiot makes a decision like that on a spur of the moment?_

It just kind of happened..?

_You just kind of walked up to the operating table and said 'Do it.'…?_

I know you have a right to know considering -

_Gee, you think?_

Clarke cuts the engine of the Jeep, brings it to a stop and sits there, fingers clenched around the steering wheel, staring straight ahead. This is a rare occasion where she can’t see the lushness of her surroundings, doesn't hear the songs of the birds in the green canopies above her head, doesn't register the warm smell of moss or decaying leaves. She's completely oblivious to it all. Then her eyes slam shut and she groans, dropping her head to rest on the wheel.

God, she should have really thought this one through.

When she finally lifts her head, Clarke realises how stupid she's being. She's sitting in an open stationary vehicle in the middle of the woods - sure, she's only about an hour away from camp but that's about an hour away from safety. She almost didn't survive her last encounter with a forest dweller and it might have been two years ago but her ribs still ache during the dead of winter. She turns the key and the Jeep rumbles to life.

It would however, she thinks darkly, be the cherry on top of her day, becoming some lucky jaguar's dinner. Although, she's probably worked up enough to give any animal indigestion.

The trees become a vibrant verdant blur as she drives down the cleared, dirt road and once again her thoughts turn to Bellamy.

God, how is she going to tell him?

He wouldn't be angry, she doesn't think. She doesn't shy away from pissing him off and when she does do something that she knows is going to send him through the roof, she's prepared for his reaction. This time, however, she's not prepared. Because other than knowing he wouldn't be angry, Clarke's not sure how he's going to react. And she hates that. After knowing the man for nine years, most of those years fighting for survival with him at her side, spending more years in love with him than not and living with him for the past two, Clarke _knows_ Bellamy.

She knows that he's intense, compassionate and is one of the best people she's ever known. She knows that he's actually more stubborn than she is even though most people think it's the other way around. She knows that she's never met anyone else quite as gifted as he is with sarcasm. That he doesn't hesitate to risk life and limb for his people and for strangers because he's loyal to a fault and because that's just the kind of man he is. That his knee once gave out on him when he tried to stand despite her warning because sometimes his heart forgets that his body is only human. That when Monty went through his first breakup, Bellamy was the one who poured both him and Jasper into their respective beds every night for a week. That he can turn from no-nonsense leader to doting uncle in the seconds it takes for his niece and nephew to cast identical blinding smiles at him. That he loves to tease her just so he can kiss the scowl off her face. That the first and last person he's killed was, in both situations, to save her life.

Clarke knows that Bellamy's awake at five am unless he's sick, even if he's had only two hours of rest the night before. She knows that he doesn't blink an eye at mountain lions but caterpillars creep him the hell out. She knows that as a result of an old wound, he sleeps on his belly because if he lies on one side for too long, muscle cramps wake him. That he's a master at chess but he actually never plays because he's too impatient. That in summer, he tastes of oranges. That although they've had peace for the last five years, he's always armed (she doesn't comment when, every evening, he unearths the hidden throwing knife in his boot and the palm-sized pistol he keeps tucked against the small of his back in the waist-band of his pants, because she sleeps with a hunting knife strapped to the underside of her side of the bed). She knows that when she wakes up drenched in sweat, the taste of smoke and blood heavy in her throat, he's there, strong arms banded tight around her, his voice husky in her ear, until the taste of war and death fades. And when his own nightmares have him surging blindly out of their bed, she knows that she can bring him back to her with a touch.

So, Clarke knows Bellamy. But in this instance, she's not so sure how he's going to take her news and the thought scares her almost as much as it worries her. Then she runs out of time to freak out because she can see the glint of the camp's electric wire fence through the foliage.

She's home.

The Jeep breaks out of the tree line and the dirt road smoothens out into the gravel path leading to the camp. The sun is warm on her skin and is tempered by the wind that's rushing past her. She slows as the day guard on the wall - Carina - lifts a hand to wave her into the open gates. Her eyes flick up to the large wooden hand-carved sign hanging above the Main Gate and despite the worry prickling her brain, there's still a tinge of pride when she sees that sign and the name carved into the cedar.

Camp Maya.

The sign casts a shadow over her skin for a split second as she passes under it and into the almost frantic bustle of a community building itself from the ground up. Monroe, straddling the highest beam of the wooden skeleton that is going to be their Communal Hall, lifts her hammer in a wave and Clarke presses down on her horn in reply. The majority of the buildings are already up, lined neatly down the street in a way that reminds Clarke of an old western film that she once saw with her father. The living quarters, wooden cabins of various sizes sprawl out in radiating horse - shoe lines beyond the main street.

Further out on the western side of the camp, she can see Monty, arms tight around a potted plant, disappearing into one of the greenhouses, a line of people with their own burden of flora following him obediently like a row of ducklings. Clarke can't help but grin when she recognizes Miller at the front of that line. He looks almost incongruous - beanie pulled low over his eyes, dark weather-proof jacket, big black combat boots, rifle still strapped to his back, looking every inch the badass he is and hands cradling a tiny baby fern to his chest reverently. For a while, Bellamy had not been sure Miller would follow him but the male had given up his Guard uniform, packed a duffel bag and muttered to Bellamy, 'Clarke would ream my ass if yours got hurt 'cause I wasn't around.'

It's been slightly over an year since they've left Camp Jaha. It was not an announcement well received at first by her mother, but Abby came to accept and support Clarke and Bellamy's decision . There was more than one reason behind their decision to relocate but Clarke can identify the main one. Camp Jaha was getting crowded and every year they were expanding their boundaries. They were doing extremely well so the concern wasn't so much a strain on resources as it was a strain on tempers. Also, the early years on the ground weren't kind to anyone, especially to those of the First Drop. When wars broke out, when rebellions rose, when there was an alteration that called for Clarke and Bellamy , whether by design or coincidence, the Delinquents became heavily involved. When it came to physical and psychological sacrifice, it was they who have given the most of themselves to the Arkers.

Clarke could see the toil it took on them as clearly as she could see the toil it took on Bellamy. The label 'Delinquent' was no longer said with a negative undercurrent and the surviving members of the First Drop were treated with respect and not a little amount of awe. But Clarke knows how hard it can be to live in that sort of environment - where the first thing people see is a image and not yourself. And as the years passed, as the First Drop rose to every occasion under Clarke and Bellamy, as the Delinquents displayed more effectiveness and ruthlessness than expected, Clarke also saw the wariness that passes on some faces.

The Delinquents are not soldiers, they are guerrilla, warriors in a war they began fighting even before landing. Unlike the Guard, their loyalty is not part of the job description. They follow because they want to - that makes them even more dangerous. And they have followed Clarke and Bellamy through fire and ice. If it wasn't for the necessity, Clarke would have refused point blank to put weapons in the hands of fifteen year olds. She wishes she could have told them the stain survival leaves on your soul, she wishes she could have protected them better. She knows she and Bellamy are not the only ones who suffer the nightmares, the guilt, the head-spinning rage, the despair.

They lost their first Delinquent to suicide three years ago. It had been something that had torn into Bellamy with the viciousness of a whip whilst Clarke's heart cracked even more. They have their hard-won peace, but some of them are still fighting a war - the one raging inside themselves. For those who have given most to their cause, Clarke had needed to do something and it was Bellamy who suggested the relocation. It would help - the Delinquents needed to be around people who treated them like friends, lovers, sons and daughters, not heroes. And she knows it's hard to heal when everyday you are reminded of what you have done, even if the reminder is given in the utmost form of flattery: awe.

So, Clarke, accompanied by Octavia, had reached out to the Commander. They had been granted land without much posturing, the Trikru leader using it as an opportunity to barter for knowledge of Arker medicine and construction. Clarke and Bellamy announced their intentions to relocate and unsurprisingly, the majority of the Delinquents chose to follow them. By the time they began working on the living quarters, they, plus the few of the Second Drop who had requested to join them, numbered just over eighty. With the help of Camp Jaha, they spend the year clearing the land, land that included the old Depot she and Bellamy had visited in their first year on the ground, and preparing it for construction. Once the living quarters were ready, the exodus began. It was almost three hours away from Camp Jaha by vehicle, barely twice that by horse and approximately a day on foot. It was hard but they've started with so much less before.

Clarke and Bellamy had decided to leave the naming of their new home to the inhabitants of the camp and it had been a rowdy affair. In light of the reason behind the relocation, Clarke had found the name the Delinquents had finally settled on, at first, ironic. It could have been a reminder of their time in Mount Weather - a nightmarish time where most of them had had their first kill. But Jasper quietly explained that it was also to remember the compassion humanity is capable of. It was to honour a girl and a people who placed their souls above their lives and who had died for their sacrifice. And, Jasper had murmured, taking her cold hand in his, it also about forgiveness. If Maya, with her dying breath, could forgive Clarke and Bellamy for what they had do whilst reminding Jasper that she needed forgiveness too, then Jasper can forgive Clarke for her actions. It was the first time he had actually said the words out loud and Clarke had felt a tightness in her chest ease - a tightness that had been there for so long that she had begun to get used to the ache of it.

The name stayed.

As Clarke is about to turn into the winding road to the cabins, a guttural roar, muffled by distance reaches her and she turns her head, foot coming down on the brake. In the distance, workers are silhouetted by the sun as they raise the frame of the last cabin. It has no confirmed inhabitants but considering that almost everyone here has family within visiting distance, Clarke admits without rancour, that Wick was right to push for it, even with the extra work. Clarke shades her eyes, smiling as she watches the workers heave again with another yell, throwing their weight back against the rope attached to the top of the frame and it rises off the ground with impressive speed, others on the other side positioning it into place. The workers release their grip on the rope and watch as the frame is nailed to the rest of the wooden skeleton. And when the figure standing on top of the connecting supporting beam - Harper - raises her arms in triumph, the workers on the ground throw up theirs in response, their cheers reaching Clarke with no problem.

Grinning, Clarke's hand moves to the gear but pauses when one figure detaches himself from the others. Harper scrambles down the wooden beams, surefooted, and he waits at the bottom. She'd know that walk, that stance, those shoulders anywhere.

Bellamy.

He throws an arm around the girl's shoulders when she lands next to him and even from the distance, Clarke can see the white flash of their wide grins. Her earlier worry comes rushing back but despite it, Clarke's lips still stay curved up. If someone had told her on that first day on the ground that she would end up utterly and bone-deep in love with Bellamy Blake, she would have laughed herself stupid and then pushed the person into acid fog. And yet, here she is, almost a decade later, a silly smile on her face, straining her eyes to watch the man doing nothing more exciting than passing a canteen around, arm still around Harper.

Clarke shakes her head, laughing softly, and puts the vehicle into gear, guiding it into the turn and up the road. She's coming abreast of the first line of living quarters, the huge log cabins built for the unattached members of Camp Maya, each sleeping ten inhabitants. Then a figure, baby on hip, comes out of one of the cabins up ahead, walks into the middle of the road and stays planted there, gaze fixed on her. Clarke's far enough that she has enough time to let out a resigned sigh before she slows down and puts the Jeep into park. She could drive around Raven but that would only be delaying the inevitable. Besides, the mechanic is carrying Clarke's godchild-slash-nephew and Clarke rather take on Raven than miss an opportunity to see him.

'Hey, Raven,' she calls out brightly from her seat, 'how's it going?'

'Screw that.' Raven snaps and then is distracted when the child on her hip abandons chewing on the tip of Raven's ponytail and begins to squirm restlessly, arms reaching out for Clarke, voice rising in demand. 'Oh okay, you little traitor,' the mechanic sighs, but her lips are tipped up, 'go to your aunt then.'

Clarke is already reaching for August before Raven even finishes talking. Her arms welcome his baby weight, chest aching in the most beautiful pain as August slumps forward, throwing his chubby arms around her neck and pressing a sloppy kiss to her cheek.

'I've missed you, little guy.' she murmurs into his sweet scented skin.

He giggles in response and proceeds to tell her about his day, a riveting babble of which she mostly understands.

Lincoln and Octavia were currently in Tondc to see Nyko and were spending the night there. While Sonny solemnly and politely requested to visit the giant statute outside the village first , her twin had clung to Bellamy and wailed non-stop when they tried to pry him from his uncle's arms. No amount of cajoling had worked. Even Sonny got in on it, scolding her brother in a mixture of rapid English and toddler babble but to no avail. In the end, Lincoln convinced Octavia to let August stay behind. He had three godparents in the camp and a multitude of willing hands and sharp eyes to make sure he didn't get into too much trouble. Raven had then commandeered him for the day, arguing that a building site was no place for a child and he'd have a better time in the giant playpen she and Wick had made for the twins in Engineering than strapped to a car seat for three hours. They finally agreed, Bellamy scowling, Clarke glaring daggers at Raven's smug grin.

'Clarke.'

'Hmm.' Clarke hums, still immersed in August's tale. She has a niggling suspicion he's tattling on something Murphy did.

'Griffin.'

She finally looks up and cringes at Raven's glare.

'Ok, I wasn't avoiding you.' Clarke mumbles.

'Course you weren't,' Raven says, rolling her eyes, hands on her hips, 'that's why you blew past Engineering without even slowing.'

Clarke narrows her eyes at her friend, 'What, did you rig the camp with hidden cameras?'

'Kyle.' Raven preens, patting the radio strapped across her chest.

Of course.

Clarke looks down at her nephew again who, finished with his story, is snuggling contently into the crook of her arm, chewing on the beads on a slender blonde braid he had yanked loose from the bun on top of her head. He grins at her and Clarke's chest constricts again with that beautiful ache.

'I'm kind of still processing it.' Clarke tells the brunette, quietly. 'I know it was my decision but now that it's done, it's kind of just hitting me now.'

Gravel crunches underneath as Raven comes closer and Clarke turns from August to look up at her friend who is now standing by her door, one hand on the metal railing.

'Then...' Raven prompts, dark eyes serious.

'The operation took.' Clarke confirms and she doesn't even care that her voice shakes.

'Holy shit.' Raven breathes. Then the mechanic is laughing softly but it sounds more like a gasp and she's staring at Clarke with what looks like wonder. She presses closer and her hand comes out and down to trace gently down August's cheek but her eyes remain on Clarke. 'This is what you wanted though, right?'

'It was.' Clarke whispers, and as she says them, she knows without certainty that the words are true. She clarifies and this time her voice is stronger, 'It is what I want.'

And it really is.

She just needs to tell Bellamy.

'Well, he won't know if you keep sitting here talking to me.' Raven comments wryly and Clarke realises she had said that last bit out loud.

'I'm not sure how to tell him.' she admits to the mechanic. 'I'm still trying to -'

'Process it.' Raven finishes. 'Don't blame you there.'

'I know that this is ultimately my decision, Raven, but it's his as well and what if I took that away from him?' Clarke asks, then unable to stop her rambling, 'If he doesn’t want this - and there is no 'this' without him because I want it to be him but we've never talked about it and what if -'

Then Raven's hand is on her shoulder, squeezing, and August's fingers are patting her neck, picking up on the emotions in the air. Clarke cuts herself off and takes a deep breath, leaning down to kiss August's brown curls.

'Ok, Griffin.' Raven says, all business, 'First off, what you do with your body is your decision and I don't need to remind you that Bellamy would be the first one to tell you that. Also, it's not one decision, its two - the first was yours and you made it. The second you and Bellamy will make together - you didn't take anything away from him.' She leans back and tugs at the blonde errant curl that had escaped her bun. 'He's going to be thrilled, you know.'

Clarke laughs shakily. 'I think so too but it's kinda out of the blue and maybe he's not ready. Hell,' she huffs out. 'I don't even know if I'm ready.'

'Then you guys aren't ready - and so what if you're not? No one said it has to be now.' Raven shrugs a shoulder with impressive nonchalance, 'Although,' she muses, eyes sharp on Clarke, 'you really think a man could look at his niece and nephew the way Bellamy Blake does and not be ready? And you think you, cautious, careful Clarke, would make a decision like this if you hadn't already really thought about? Subconsciously still counts.' she snaps when Clarke opens her mouth. 'Really, Griffin? Do I need to tackle you again?'

This time Clarke's laugh is genuine and loud enough that August giggles along with her. 'Your Auntie Raven's got jokes.' she tells him and he nods solemnly.

'Sometimes I wonder how you managed to survive before I crash landed here.' Raven snarks.

'I wonder too.' Clarke confesses seriously.

The brunette's face softens and she leans down to press a quick kiss to Clarke's forehead. 'If you still need time to process, I can hold off Bellamy for a couple more hours.'

Clarke sucks in a deep breath, nods. 'That would be good, thanks.'

August chooses that moment to finally catch on to what they're saying and Clarke suddenly finds her arms full of squirming toddler.

'Uncto Bell!' he demands imperiously, balancing himself on Clarke's thighs, arms reaching out to Raven.

Well, that didn't take long, Clarke thinks, amused.

Raven rolls her eyes but reaches into the Jeep to sweep August into her arms. She settles him on her hip and winks at Clarke, waving an arm over her head in farewell as she turns away.

'You guys should find yourselves a new mechanic,' Raven shouts over her shoulder as she saunters away, August still babbling orders at her, 'I've got a new kickass gig as baby transportation. I'm going to be hell on wheels.'

Clarke is still laughing when she turns the key in the ignition and the Jeep rumbles to life.

****

She reaches home without any other delays, parking the Jeep on the side of the wooden cabin and climbing out of it. She pats it gratefully after swinging her bag over a shoulder and closing the door. Bellamy and Octavia had led some select Arkers back to Mount Weather while she was gone, years ago. They didn't talk about it and Clarke never asked what had been done to the place and a part of her still doesn't want to know. All she does know is that the Mountain fortress is now sealed with only one entrance and exit point that very few know of and that there was a off-road vehicle at Camp Jaha by the time she got back. There was no real use for it as the terrain was too rough and they had no sustainable source of fuel. Now they do and enough well used paths have been cleared enough for vehicle use.

Clarke clambers up the wooden steps, unlocks the door and walks into the house she and Bellamy had turned into a home. Like all the rest, the cabin is small. It's basically one huge room, a kitchen consisting of a wood-stove, a counter and a sink, small table in one corner and hammock-like structures for seats in the living area. Their bed is in another corner of the room behind a thick curtain of fur. The door on the far side of the room opens to a covered pathway to the bathroom at the back of the house. Their laundry is also on that pathway and it consists of a stone sink and Mylar ropes for a clothing line. Their home is modest - they have running water and electricity but even if they didn't, Clarke would have still loved it. Because there's sunlight pouring through the huge glass windows and the room looks immersed in light. Because there are flowers from the bushes Monty planted out front of the cabin to give them some privacy in a vase Raven made from scrap-metal sitting on the dining table that Lincoln and Bellamy had built. Because Bellamy's combat boots are laying where he kicked them off, half-haphazardly by the door. Because his riding jacket is hanging from a peg above them, one end of her woollen scarf peeking out of it's pocket. Because there's a pencil sketch she did hanging on the wall above the table. Because if she drew back the floor-length curtain, she'd see the indent Bellamy left this morning on the bed as he sat down to pull on his boots and the one her knees left as she knelt behind him, arms wrapped around his shoulders, her mouth pressed to the nape of his neck. Their cabin might not be a palace, but it is perfect.

Clarke throws her bag on the table and walks into the kitchen. Her body has an annoying habit of not being able to stay still if her brain is in overdrive so she might as well get started on dinner. Then she stops, staring at the thick cuts of salmon in the sink, packed in ice, the bowl of raw wild rice on the counter. She had told Bellamy that Abby needed her in Medical (it wasn't, technically, a lie), that she didn't know how long it was going to take but in the unlikely event she had to spend the night at Camp Jaha, she'd radio in after lunch. She never radioed in.

If either of them felt up to it, they cooked at home. But on most nights, they ate at the Mess Hall, too worn out by the day to actually prepare food. Clarke enjoyed having dinner with their friends but Bellamy knew she liked having dinner with him at home more. She thought she had done a good job of hiding her worry the past few days but she sees now that Bellamy must have picked up on it.

At the very least, he would have noticed the tiny cut on her hip.

If he didn't already know she was back, he must think she was on her way back and was planning on making dinner. Being the man he is, Bellamy, in his own quiet way, is trying to do what he can to temper her worry, exhausted as he must be. Clarke wraps her arms around her belly, breathes out a laugh as she looks down at the deep pink meat of the fish in the sink. She loved salmon. And Bellamy knows it.

Classic Bellamy, Clarke thinks.

For all that he has a gift with charming crowds to his will, he was never much for grandiose - and if he has ever made any, it was more about him not caring that people are watching than a desire to make a grand gesture of love. Bellamy has never brought her flowers, has never asked her to dance, has never made a grand speech to all and sundry about how much he loves her. What he _has_ done is whisper that he loves her every dawning morning when he thinks she's still sleeping. He's given her the jacket off his back when the wind nips harder than initially expected. He's left charcoal and smooth beaten bark on the table, mint leaves for her favourite tea on the kitchen counter, a glass bottle of vanilla scented oil in the bathroom the day traders had come in and she had trouble tearing herself away from the dried vanilla stalks. Even if he didn't tell her he loved her every night, Clarke would still know.

And as she washes her hands, reaches for the salmon, Clarke also knows that she is ready for the next step in their relationship. That if Bellamy wasn't, she'd wait forever for him because she can't imagine a life - doesn’t want a life - with anyone else but him.

There's no doubt left.

****

Three hours pass before Bellamy comes home. It's earlier than expected but contrary to her earlier freak-out, it doesn't faze Clarke.

Not too much, anyway.

She's sitting, knees up and feet propped against the low table, sketching when he crosses in front of the house, by-passing the door and moving towards the back. He obviously hadn't seen the parked Jeep yet. Clarke sets her feet down and gets to her feet, padding quietly to the door. She slips out and down the wrap-around veranda, following the sound of rushing water to find him in the small backyard, shirtless, feet bare, head dunked deep into the water-filled metal drum set there for that exact purpose.

His back is to her so Bellamy doesn't see her grin when he pulls his head out of the water, shaking it and sending droplets water flying everywhere, some landing on her bare toes. He grabs his discarded t-shirt, shoves it under the running tap next to the drum and begin to wipe the sweat and dust off his upper body. Everyday, even in winter, Bellamy will do this before coming into the house. Clarke pushes herself off the column, sits herself on the first step down and waits.

If she's being honest, it's no hardship to watch him, all sharp lines, brown skin and fluid movements. There's a tattoo, black symbols swirling above his heart and inked into the upper part of his right shoulder. His skin is marred by scars - she has her own but Clarke knows no Arker has more than Bellamy. She knows the location of each of his scars. In the dark, Clarke can trace a scar with her finger, close her eyes and tell you exactly how it he got it because she was either present when he received the wound or she had treated and dressed it. In most circumstances, it was both. She can tell you that the keloid tissue on his right pectoral was from a poisoned Grounder arrow. That the contracture on his lower back was the result of torture. That a lynx left atrophic dents low on his left calf. That all the thin silver facial scars were the result of the same war and that the first scar he ever received on the ground was the tiny hollow at one corner of his upper lip. That the hypertrophic line that ran too close to the back of Bellamy's neck was how Clarke was forced to admit that she was in love with him. - because she had felt like her life was draining away with the blood that had flowed from him that night.

Bellamy is only 32, but like her, he has been faced with his mortality more times than he can count. Sometimes the price of survival is your soul and if it doesn't take your soul, it will take your body. Bellamy has managed to escape that fate but he didn't escape unscathed. Survival leaves a mark and, like Clarke, he will carry those scars until he leaves this Earth. They are the evidence of his strength and resolve and as beautiful as they are tragic. But under those scars, under his beauty is a man. A man whose blood and sweat stained the soil she stood on, who felt fear and pain and joy as much as the next person. He was just a man with an extraordinary heart and indomitable will. And he belonged to her.

Then Bellamy, once again leaning down, t-shirt under the tap, freezes. He straightens slowly, almost casually, and turns to look at her. His face looked expressionless but Clarke had seen the tensing of his shoulders, the way his left hand flexed when he realised he was under someone's watch. Then the tension in his shoulders melt away and the corners of his eyes crinkle when they see her seated on the steps.

'Hey, princess.' his low laugh sends heat coursing through her, 'Didn't think you'd be back until later.'

Of course Raven would come through.

Clarke lifts a shoulder, sends him a smile, 'We, uh, finished earlier than I'd originally thought. Radioed into Medical here when I got back, Mel said aside from a sore thumb, everything's quiet.'

'Hmm.' Bellamy twists at the hip to squeeze out excess water out of his sodden shirt, 'So?' he prompts and his voice is casual but his dark eyes as they meet hers over his shoulder are clear and direct.

What he's really asking is _'Are you okay?'_

Clarke holds his gaze, 'Results are promising - hoping for good news any day now.'

 _'I'm fine.'_ is what she's replying.

Bellamy nods, straightens, slings his t-shirt over one shoulder, then stands there, just looking at her, head cocked to the side. His wet hair is slicked back and the severity show-cases the strong raw-boned lines of his face. Clarke could see drops of water caught in his eyelashes and the sight does strange things to her stomach. She pulls her legs up to her belly and wraps her arms around them.

'If something was wrong,' Bellamy murmurs, taking a step towards her, never looking away, 'you'd tell me, right?'

Yeah, he definitely picked up on the preoccupied vibes the last couple of days. She's not surprised - just as she's not surprised he isn't pushing the matter directly. Bellamy has an uncanny sixth sense about when to push her and when to hold back. It's only one of the multitude of reasons why she loves him the way she does.

Clarke rises to her feet as he comes towards her. She's up on the highest step and he's standing on the ground but the top of his head is barely a inch lower than her own, she notices with a silent resigned sigh. She holds his eyes, places her forearms on his shoulders, leans in to rest her forehead on his. Bellamy's skin is cool but it warms quickly under her hands.

'Nothing is wrong.' she promises softly, 'But I'll tell you all about it anyway.' She tilts her head, leans in and brushes her lips against his, 'After dinner.'

'Alright.' Bellamy's hands come up to rest on her waist. 'Uh, about dinner -' he starts.

'I took care of it already.' Clarke says. Then her arms cross behind his neck, tugging him closer to her, 'Thank you.'

He doesn’t ask what for, his hands squeezing her waist briefly tells her that he already knows. When Clarke brings herself flush against him, drops her head to nip his jaw, his hands tightens warningly.

'Clarke.' he mutters against her mouth, baritone a dark vibration under her fingers, 'Been working all day. I still got a lotta sweat and dust on me.'

Distantly, she wonders if he will ever understand that he could be covered in blood and grime and it won't make her want him any less.

She tilts her neck back and the movement only presses the rest of her body tighter against the length of his. 'Promise?'

Bellamy's eyes scan her face for a split second before his chest expands against hers in a huffed laugh. 'I'll take that offer.' he states and his smile sharpens into a grin.

Then he's leaning up and he's taking her mouth in a slow kiss that burns through her like the summer sun, turning her limbs heavy and her head dizzy. He deepens the kiss until Clarke is trembling, until the only reason she's standing is Bellamy's firm hold on her. His hands drop from her waist to her hips, skimming over her ass until they come to rest on the back of her thighs. His fingers tighten on them in a gentle squeeze and Clarke's dazed enough that it takes her several seconds before she realises what he wants. She pulls back from the kiss reluctantly, hops up and Bellamy does the rest, bringing her legs up to wrap around his waist as he comes up the steps until they're both under the shade of the veranda.

Clarke wraps her arms around his shoulders, the heat of his bare skin searing her inner thighs through the material of her pants. She doesn't even care about the hard outline of the gun at his back pressing into her calf. She remembers her earlier reluctance and thinks _Yeah, this is much better_. Then Bellamy's moving, mouth back on hers, long fingers, wide palms hot on the back of her thighs and somehow they're inside the cabin and he's setting her down gently on the kitchen counter. Their movements are deliberate, unhurried but Clarke's heartbeat is thundering in her ears and when one hand comes to rest against the side of Bellamy's neck, she can feel the rapid beat of his pulse under her fingers.

Her legs are still locked around Bellamy's waist but he seems to be in no hurry to move away. His mouth is brushing butterfly kisses down the side of her neck and his hands slip under her shirt, running up the bare skin of her back. Clarke shudders and she arches back against his fingers. A hoarse laugh rumbles from Bellamy's throat and he's muttering something. Clarke opens eyes she doesn't remember closing and focuses on him.

'Huh?' she mumbles.

She's near inarticulate and the tiny working part of her brain wonders how he can manage to almost undo her with nothing more than his mouth on her neck and his hands on her back.

'You're so fucking beautiful.' Bellamy repeats, voice shredded, the weight of his dark gaze as it moves across her face so heavy that Clarke could swear she can feel it.

And that still functioning part of her brain squeaks, ' _That's how_.' and promptly stops functioning too.

Chest tight, almost shy under his eyes, Clarke means to tell him that he's breathtaking but what comes out is, 'I love you.'

Bellamy's head goes back slightly in surprise but the heat in his eyes gentle but somehow deepen. He leans in, one hand goes into her hair and he guides Clarke into his kiss, she following willingly.

Then, spoken against her lips so that she can feel them, Bellamy gives her the words. 'I love you.'

Clarke's hands tighten on his waist and his continue their slow journey up her back, fingers flicking against her bra strap before they move up and away.

'No one likes a tease, Bellamy.' she scolds but the effect is ruined when it comes out shaky.

He laughs against her neck and Clarke can feel it's vibration down to her toes. His laugh quickly dies however when her hands move from his waist to the buckle of his belt. Clarke slips the tip of the belt free of its loop, yanks gently and it comes free, grinning at Bellamy's intake of breath. She hooks a forefinger in the still buttoned waistband of his cargoes, between the hot skin below his navel and the rough material. But she doesn't do anything more and instead leans forward to lick the skin on his shoulder.

'Point taken, Griffin.' Bellamy mutters darkly and she smirks.

In retaliation, his teeth sinks into her lower lip and tugs it playfully into his mouth. They remain like for a while, hands skimming leisurely, lips roaming across cheekbones, necks. The only sound in the room is her soft gasps, his quiet groans, their soft shared laughter when their heads knock together as a result of wrong timing.

Then the squawk of a radio cuts into the air, unwelcome and sending shockwaves through the room. Bellamy pulls back with a guttural curse and Clarke blinks heavy eyes at the offending object on the counter next to her.

'Bellamy, you're needed in the courtyard. Do you copy?'

Miller.

The words are calm, level, but Miller's tone sends unease skittering down Clarke's spine and Bellamy stiffens. It's as effective as a bucket of ice water.

He leans away from her and grabs the radio. 'Talk to me.' he says and there's no gentleness left in him now.

There's a hiss when Miller opens the line but for a second he doesn't say anything. Clarke can make out another voice in the background, male, and it strikes a memory deep in her membrane but she can't quite put her finger on it. But the memory it trips, whatever it is, brings with it darkness and her fingers bite into Bellamy's arm.

'You gotta see this, man.' Miller finally says and Clarke knows she's right when he continues, 'And Bellamy? Hurry.'

They snap into motion.

Bellamy's across the room, yanking on a dry t-shirt, shoving his feet into combat boots. Clarke's jumping off the counter, rounding it and grabbing the gun in the thigh holster she keeps in the drawer there. She's snatching Bellamy's side-arm from another drawer when a short sharp whistle brings her attention around and her arm shoots out, catching the sheathed hunting knife Bellamy throws her, mid-air. She shoves it into the back of her pants, hands him the revolver and follows as he stalks out the door. They don't need to talk, they've done this too many times before.

She has forgotten, Clarke thinks numbly as the night wind rushes past her. It has been years since she's reacted like this - like she's heading into a battle. She's forgotten how quiet her brain can get in situations like this, blank except for the missive to ensure those she loved lived. She's forgotten the cold that seeps into her bones, the clinical, almost detached way her mind processes things and orders her body to move accordingly. She's forgotten the metallic taste of survival. But it hasn't forgotten her and as Clarke glances at Bellamy, sees the grim set of his mouth, eyes hard and the way his fingers clench on the steering wheel, it hasn't forgotten Bellamy either.

They arrive at the courtyard, Bellamy bringing the Jeep to a rough stop and Clarke jumping out before it even comes to a complete stop. Bellamy wastes as much time telling her to stay in the car as she does begging him to not to go. That is, none at all. She rounds the bonnet but stays slightly behind Bellamy. He had been the one Miller called for. This was his play and in this circumstance, Clarke would follow Bellamy's lead. Then they round the last building and come to a frozen stop. Whatever Clarke had been expecting, it was worse that whatever had been sliding through her brain.

'Jesus Christ.' Bellamy bites out.

The area is near deserted, eerily quiet but under the floodlights, near the gates, Miller stands, one arm out pleadingly, opposite a man. Clarke couldn't see the stranger's face properly, only a side view and a beard obstructs a clear look at the lower half of his face. But there's a buzzing under her skin and Clarke knows this was not the first time she's met him. Miller's rifle hangs on it's strap across his chest but Clarke understands why he wasn't using it. Because the stranger has a child - a girl - hitched high against him as a human shield and the muzzle of a gun pressed to the side of her head. Clarke sees the bright red curls and knows. Mirry. Ten year old Mirry. Rage, hot and cleansing, cuts through the cold and Clarke temps it down viciously. Losing her temper now is not going to help Mirry.

Then Bellamy is moving forward, she's following and, like muscle memory, her mind remembers what to do. _One handgun in play, another holstered at his belt_ , it whispers. _Look at the way he keeps his back to the gate, the way he keeps Mirry in front of his chest_ , it continues, _he knows what he's doing. Good solid build though he's gone slightly soft, straight bearing. Weapons, tactics, stature. Military background, maybe_ , her mind deduces. He's in his late forties, early fifties at a push. _Who do you know in that age range, capable of holding a child at gunpoint?_ Too many but none of them fit this profile. Her eyes flick up. _Good, two guns on the watchtowers_.

But then she and Bellamy come close enough that the man notices. He turns his head, smirks at them and Clarke's insides freeze. Despite the beard, she knows him, knows that smirk. Had seen it aimed at her from beyond the protective door of a radiation-free room of an Ark Station.

Emmerson.

God, are all their choices going to come back to punish the innocent like this?

'Mirry, it's going to be okay, alright?' Bellamy calls out to the girl, ignoring the ex-Mount Weather guard.

There are tear tracks on Mirry's face and she's visibly shaking, 'I'm scared, Bellamy.' she says, her voice is tiny and trembling.

I'm going to put a bullet through his head, Clarke thinks numbly.

'I know, kid, so am I,' Bellamy confesses. 'But I'm going to need you to hold on for a little longer, kay?'

'Ok, that's enough.' Emmerson is cutting in. 'You've established that she's fine. Time to move on.'

'The fuck is this?'

Bellamy's barked question brings her back to focus.

'Where are your manners, Blake?' Emmerson sneers, hitching Mirry higher and Clarke's control near snaps at the girl's choked cry, quickly suppressed. 'It is Blake, right? Bellamy Blake, the great hero who brought down Mount Weather.'

Bellamy ignores the derision and hate in his voice, 'What do you want, Emmerson?'

His sneer drops. 'What I want is something you can't give me. What I want is to go home, to have my people back. But you can't give me that, can you?' the gun's muzzle moves from Mirry and Clarke's relieved breath stops when it's trained on Bellamy instead. 'Because you fucking sealed the place and you fucking killed everyone I know.'

Clarke's throat tightens. She takes a breath to remind him that Bellamy wasn't the only one responsible but Bellamy shifts on his feet, gives her a look when she glances at him and Clarke falls silent. Her jaw clenches but they've done this before, rules have been made and in this situation, Bellamy makes the calls.

'You would have made the same choice.' Bellamy tells Emmerson calmly, 'You already did. Only difference between you and me is that I found a way to do it first.'

But reasoning wouldn't help, Clarke knows. There's a flat, dead look in Emmerson's eyes and despair rises when she recognises that too. It was the look Finn wore as he open-fired on a village. Her thoughts turn to August. Raven. Jasper. Monty. Wick. God, everyone.

'Miller,' she murmurs, 'the bunkers?'

'Filled.' he confirms quietly.

Relief floods her. There's a reason why she and Bellamy chose this land. Those underground bunkers. They ran the entire length of the camp, could comfortably hold two hundred people and their doors could survive a nuclear apocalypse. They had been cleared out, cleaned and supplied and the gunners were drilled about what to do if they ever needed to evacuate people into them. Clarke just never thought that they would need them this soon.

'You think that makes me feel any better?' Emmerson screams and the sound cuts into Clarke like glass. 'I just want to go home!' the gun waves dangerously in the air, 'I don't even know why they wanted to come up here - it's fucked up out here, fucking Outsiders everywhere, animals that try to fucking eat you, even the fucking bugs want your blood! How the fuck does anyone survive up here?'

'If you want to go home, I can take you there. There's a way in.' Bellamy promises.

But Emmerson only laughs and it sounds wrong coming out of his mouth. 'We both know I can't go home. Hell,' he mutters, looking at the towers, 'I'm probably not leaving this camp alive.'

'Then tell me what you want from me and if I can give it to you, I will.'

Emmerson cocks his head, 'It's not so much what I want from you, Bellamy.' he says, almost cheerfully. 'It's more like what I want from you.' His eyes flick from Bellamy and meets Clarke's.

She can feel Bellamy go rock solid beside her and the vibe coming from him changes.

'Bellamy and Clarke.' Emmersons continues softly. 'Wasn't hard to find you. Especially with -'

'And do you want from me?' Clarke interrupts through cold lips.

Emmerson smiles. 'Pain.'

Bellamy shifts but stops when Emmerson's gun goes back to Mirry's head.

'See, it's simple.' Emmerson explains patiently, 'Bellamy, you walk over to me, I let Mirry go. Don't worry, I was never going to hurt her. I'd never hurt a child, not me. _I'm_ not the monster here.'

Clarke flinches as a wound in her soul, barely healed, cracks open again leaving it raw and open. Beside her, Bellamy's head jerks to the side like he's been punched in the jaw and Clarke remembers the conversation they had, years ago, the night he killed a man for the first time.

'Then,' Emmerson continues, looking delighted at the effect his words had on them, 'I kill you, Bellamy, bullet to the head, you probably won't feel it. Clarke,' he turns to her, grinning, 'I want you to watch. Don't worry, I'll give you a minute to mourn when Bellamy's dead. I kill you, maybe a bullet to the heart is more fitting for you. Then, I suppose,' he pauses, thoughtfully, 'your guards are welcome to kill me.' He looks up, grins at Bellamy and Clarke, 'It'll be very dramatic, a fitting end to our story.'

Oh my God, Clarke thinks, he's completely fucked in the head.

Then Bellamy is stepping forward, 'Let Mirry go, you get me.'

Clarke's heart clenches painfully.

Emmerson grins. 'Good choice. First things first. Drop the weapons.'

They disarm, kicking their guns away, Clarke's head trying to come up with a solution where they don't all end up dead.

Bellamy turns to her, wraps a hand around her cold neck and pulls her in close. When he kisses her cheek, Clarke wants to clutch him. But her body's gone unresponsive. She's _not_ going to lose him like this -she won't.

'When I'm down and Mirry's clear.' Bellamy whispers in her ear, 'kill him. Move fast, Clarke. And whatever you do, whatever happens, you stay alive. Do you hear me?'

She nods numbly and the voice in her head screams in denial.

He lets her go, lips brushing against her pale ones . 'I love you.'

And then he's walking away. From her.

No, this is not going to happen. She's not going to lose him like this. She'd die first before standing by to watch that happen.

Clarke's eyes snap to Emmerson. His eyes are near crazed, they're focused on Bellamy and the hunting knife slides down her arm and into her palm. Emmerson's grip slackens and Clarke sees his eyes flicker, knowing his mistake. Mirry tears herself free and Clarke doesn't think.

As Miller snaps into action, throwing himself at the girl, Clarke darts forward, drops the knife and yanks the gun out of Bellamy's waistband. She squeezes the trigger but she knows she already too late. Emmerson's eyes are already on her and she's looking into the barrel of his gun. He staggers back as her bullet makes contact with him and then stumbles, Bellamy's throwing knife lodged in his thigh. But the shot he let off echoes in the clearing a split second after Clarke's and her head snaps to the side as searing pain rushes down her neck.

She lands on her hip, shaking her head in an attempt to chase the sting in her neck away. Her fingers come away with blood. But it's not a lot and Clarke knows from the pain that the bullet had just grazed her. Then her head snaps back as Bellamy surges up from his crouch into a run, tackling Emmerson and bringing him down. Clarke scrambles after the guns they had thrown away but she can't get a clear shot.

Then Bellamy's rising up from the dust, one hand clamped around Emmerson's throat, the tip of Clarke's hunting knife pressing deep into the soft underside of Emmerson's jaw.

'Why the hesitation, Blake?' Emmerson grins with bloody teeth. 'What's more blood on your hands?'

Clarke goes cold.

Bellamy is going to kill him, she knows without a doubt. He'll take another life. He won't regret it but his soul will feel the weight of another life. And she can't let him take on another burden like that. Protect the ones you love. She moves forward quickly, releases the safety on the gun but she knows she can't get a clear shot in time. The muscles bunch in Bellamy's arm, he's pushing the blade deeper into the other man's jaw and a shot rings out.

Emmerson's goes limp in Bellamy's grasp, a trickle of blood running down from the small bullet hole in his temple.

Clarke stops, unblinking at the man now crumpled on the ground. Her head turns at the sound of footsteps.

John Murphy is stepping out of the shadows, jogging towards them, slinging a rifle over his shoulder.

Cold hands cup her face and Clarke's blinking up at Bellamy. His face is cold, hands trembling slightly as they run over her, hot eyes lingering on the cut on her neck.

'I'm okay.' she whispers.

His eyes flick to her but he doesn't reply, his face remaining blank, jaw clenched tight. Then they move away to Miller who has made it back and he releases Clarke to go to his Second in Command. Clarke breathes in deep.

She doesn't regret what she did.

She walks over to Murphy who is standing over Emmerson, a distained look on his face.

'Hey.' she calls.

'You good?' Murphy asks her absently, still glaring down at the dead man.

'Yeah.' Clarke murmurs. 'Look, what you did. Thank you.'

Murphy finally looks at her. She knows that Murphy understands what she's thanking him for. His face softens a fraction as he looks at her. His mouth quirks in a gentler version of his usual smirk. 'Anytime.'

Clarke's mouth opens in surprise as she stares at the man, the almost relieved look on his face. And it dawns on her that she wasn't the only one who felt like she needed forgiveness from their friends. She reaches out and squeezes his arm.

'Clarke!'

She turns around at her name and she has a second to brace before Raven slams into her, arms tight around her neck.

'Jesus, are you okay?' the mechanic snaps, pulling back to look her over, 'We heard shots.'

Clarke grabs her arms, 'I'm fine.' she reassures the brunette. 'Where's August?'

'Asleep.' Raven gestures behind her, 'Kyle's got him, he's fine.'

Clarke breathes out in relief and they both turn to watch as Murphy and Archer begin pulling Emmerson's body away.

'What did he want Bellamy for?' Raven murmurs.

'To be some kind of screwed up lesson to me.' Clarke explains, words bitter in her mouth.

Raven shudders and turns back to her, inclining her head to a point behind Clarke.

'Cluster-fuck is over,' she observes with a frown, 'but Bellamy still looks like he wants to kill something.'

Clarke doesn't need to look over her shoulder to know that Raven is right. 'I might have something to do with that.' she murmurs with a grimace.

The mechanic raises a brow and her eyes drop to the angry line on the side of Clarke's neck. Then her face sort of crumbles, her eyes close, and Clarke knows that Raven is doing the math. She half expects the brunette to start yelling at her but instead, Raven grabs her by the shoulders and yanks her in, her arms closing tight around Clarke.

Clarke returns the hug just as fiercely.

'You drive me up the fucking wall, you know that, Griffin?' Raven snarls in her ear but Clarke hears the hoarseness in the mechanic's voice.

She doesn't reply, just squeezes Raven tighter. They stand there for a while, just holding each other and Clarke memorises this - the strength of Raven's slender body, her scent of oil and lemon, the warmth of her arms. They were small things but Clarke has been reminded recently to appreciate the small things. There's not a single thing she wants to forget about Raven Reyes.

Then, behind her -

'Camp's on lock-down till dawn.' Bellamy's voice is low, dangerous as he instructs Miller, 'No one comes in or goes out of those gates without approval.'

'I hear you, man.' Miller mutters.

Raven's arms tighten around her warningly, 'Bellamy's coming over now. Just a warning - you're gonna wanna brace.'

The mechanic lets her go, steps back as another hand, long-fingered and wide palmed, claims Clarke's right hand. She shoots Bellamy a glance but he doesn't look at her and his face is still closed off, stony.

'Raven.' he says stiffly, 'August -'

'I'll bring him by first thing tomorrow morning.' Raven says, backing away.

Bellamy shakes his head, warningly, but Raven doesn't stop.

'Trust me,' she says, her eyes shifting between the two of them. 'you guys are going to need all the space you can get tonight. He's fine, slept through the entire drama and Kyle thinks he's an engineering prodigy.' Her voice softens. 'I'll bring him by tomorrow morning.'

Bellamy remains silent.

'He'll be okay.' Clarke says quietly, 'It's Raven. She won't let anything happen to him.'

Bellamy takes in a breath, jerks his chin at Raven. Without a word, he starts walking back to the Jeep, and Clarke, her hand enveloped in his, follows. But when Raven calls her name, she stops and they both turn around to see the mechanic standing alone in the open courtyard, arms wrapped around her waist.

Raven is smiling at her, her dark eyes bright, her face soft and unguarded and Clarke thinks Raven may be the most beautiful woman alive.

'You know I love you, right?' Raven calls out, her voice echoing slightly in the empty space.

There's a warmth spreading throughout her body, the cold that Emmerson had left in her begins to thaw and Clarke laughs, not caring if it sounded broken.

'Yeah,' she calls back, 'yeah, I do. And I love you too, Raven.'

The brunette nods jerkily and she's turning away, sending them a two-fingered salute over her shoulder as the night swallows her.

****

The ride back to the cabin is almost as tense as their earlier one down to the courtyard.

They don't speak.

Clarke knows the vibe coming off Bellamy. He's not speaking because he's fighting for control. Every line of his body is tight, almost thrumming with suppressed violence. Bellamy's blood runs hotter than anyone she's ever known. Most of what people see is his surface temper, bright and hot like a spark. This was not one of those times. Clarke closes her eyes, remembers the blur of events leading to this moment. She knew that if they survived Emmerson, this would be a consequence. So Clarke keeps her silence because a vehicle in the dark of the night is not the right place to deal with this.

Bellamy throws the vehicle into park, throws his door open and slams into the house. Clarke takes a deep breath, ignores the rushing feeling in her belly and follows, more slowly, trepidation mixing with defiance. When she walks through the door, Bellamy is standing next to their bed, his back to her, throwing his shoulder holster on the bed. He's reaching back, yanking out her hunting knife, back in it's sheath, from his waistband when she finally speaks.

'Bellamy.'

At her voice, he turns abruptly around, knife still in one clenched fist and he stalks towards her. Clarke sees that the hold he has on his temper is slipping. She knows what Bellamy is capable of, the damage he can do with just muscle and temper. But she doesn't move and lets him come to her because, even in his worst moments, Clarke has never been afraid of him. She's safer with him than anyone else.

Bellamy reaches up with his free hand, fingers against her neck, thumb under her chin, tipping it up and away from him. Her neck is bared to him and Clarke is proven right. Even as furious as he is, Bellamy's touch on her is gentle - so gentle that her throat tightens and a burn, low in her belly, sparks to life.

Then his hand is gone and she opens her eyes to see Bellamy staring at the bullet graze on her neck before he steps back, turning away from her jerkily.

'Bellamy -'

Clarke cuts herself off when the back of his shoulders tense, his arm comes out and with a vicious side arm throw, the hunting knife is slicing through the air, across the room. It slams into the opposite wall with a cracking thud, hard enough that Clarke can feel the vibration of the hit through the floorboards, before falling to the floor with a clatter.

It was as if the sound of the knife hitting the wall was a signal and Clarke flinches when the room suddenly becomes stifling with the weight of Bellamy's rage. As she takes a step forward, he is spinning back to face her. Clarke sees the look on his face and has a second to think that Raven was correct, before -

'Did you lose your goddamn mind!' Bellamy roars.

All control gone.

Shit.

'He was going to put a bullet in your head.' Clarke says, trying for calm, 'I had to do something.'

'A centimetre to the fucking right and the bullet would have been in _your throat_!' he snarls, hand snapping out to gesture at her.

'I'm aware of that,' she murmurs rationally, 'but I didn't have much time to think of a better option.'

She knows that, for Bellamy, this isn't so much about her actions earlier than it is about her almost dying. She just needs to get him to calm down and then -

'Really?' he bites out ''Cause it seems to me, you didn't think at all.'

Bastard.

Regardless of her attempt at staying level-headed, heat rushes up her neck, and the panic and rage she felt whilst watching Bellamy walk towards an armed, insane man surges up again.

Screw calm and rational.

'What do you want me to say, Bellamy?' she snaps, 'I won't apologise and even if I did, you'd know I didn't mean it anyway. I'd do what I did again. I'm not sorry.'

Bellamy swears viciously. 'Clarke, you could have died - '

'Like I said, I'm aware and I'm still not sorry.' she retorts, cutting him off. 'Yelling at me isn't going to change that or undo what I did. So, stop.'

'Don't give me that,' he snaps, 'if our roles were reversed, you wouldn't have waited to get home before ripping me a new one.'

He's not wrong.

'Yeah, you're right, I wouldn't have.' Clarke throws back. 'Then again, if our roles were reversed, I would be chewing you out because you would have done the exact same thing I did.'

Bellamy throws his hands up then links his fingers behind his neck, 'Jesus Christ, there's no getting through to you.' he growls at the ceiling.

God, she hates it when he acts like she's being unreasonable.

'I did what I had to do to protect you!' she yells. 'And I'm sorry that it pisses you off right now but -'

'You think I'm pissed?' Bellamy snarls, head snapping back down to her, 'Princess, I passed 'pissed' an hour ago.' he takes a step towards her, 'Right now, I just wanna wring your pretty throat. You know, the one that almost got shot out of your neck!'

That burn in her belly flares dangerously.

'You wouldn't even get near enough to touch me.' Clarke taunts.

Has she lost her freaking mind?

Their fights, their _real_ fights, have never been pretty - screaming matches, sometimes witnessed by others, most of the time laden with yelling, always raw. Lincoln once told her that she and Bellamy were passionate creatures and that that fact translates vividly in their fights. This wasn't their first fight - hell, it wasn't even their first fight since they became a couple. But God, it's starting to look like it was going to top them all.

Well.

Love hard, fight hard.

'He was ten fucking feet from you!' Bellamy roars. 'Do you know what it felt like to watch someone pull the trigger of a loaded gun aimed point-blank at your face?'

A rage-infused film washes over Clarke's sight - he can't seriously be asking _her_ that question.

'It feels like you're watching your own life being torn away.' she throws out, uncaring now if someone could hear them, 'Did you forget I've watched you face death before? I know what it feels like, Bellamy - God, do I know. And each time I watch you do it is as shitty an experience as it was watching the previous times before that!' A look crosses Bellamy's face that Clarke doesn't stop to think about it, 'But goddamn you, I would do it again!' she yells, defiant, 'I will never stop trying to protect you, Bellamy, and I don't care what I have to do -'

She sees him coming at her but doesn't process it until he's less than a foot away.

By then, it's too late.

Clarke's breath leaves her in a rush when Bellamy's solid body slams into hers, propelling her backwards, his arm wrapped around her waist in a iron grip, until her back hits a wall. She never gets the chance to regain her breath because the moment they stop moving, his mouth is on hers, rough, needy and desperate. And the burn smouldering low in her belly ignites and engulfs her body. It's anger and desire and knee-weakening relief that he's still there and so is she. It's the terror of surviving and the joy of life. And it's burning him up too.

She and Bellamy may never fully regain their sanity again - after all the things they have done, they're too far gone. They might be broken forever but God, Clarke thinks, together, they can be whole. This is one of the reasons why she will never stop protecting him. Because, with Bellamy, Clarke feels like it's okay to be broken. And, oh God, she almost lost him tonight -

Her hands reach out, grips his waist and draws him even harder against her. A snarl rumbles up his chest, vibrating under her fingers and his hand comes up, fisting in her hair and baring her neck to him. Bellamy tears his mouth away only to lower it swiftly again, hitting her directly above her jugular, sucking hard. His tongue darts out to lick away the sting, his teeth scraps against her sensitised skin before he sucks again. She moans. She can't help it. Her knees buckles and her hands lift from his waist to his shoulders in panic. Instantly, the arm banded across her lower back tightens, pushing her tighter against him and keeping her upright.

The gesture wraps itself around her heart until it's absorbed into the muscle. Of course he'd stop her from falling - he always has.

Clarks twists against Bellamy restlessly, heart roaring, torn between wanting him to never stop and wanting more. Kiss me, she wants to scream. She wants his mouth back on hers, wants to taste him, wants to give him all of her, wants everything he could give her. The room spins, she couldn't breathe deeply enough but she would forego oxygen if it means he would have his hands and mouth on her.

Then Bellamy is tearing his mouth away from her neck and Clarke sucks in what feels like the first proper breath since their night started. His fingers leave her hair, his arm releases her waist and both hands come up to cup her face. Clarke fights the dizziness, focuses on Bellamy's face and sees everything raging in her mirrored on his face. His pupils are blown, the rim of brown almost swallowed by the black, the lines of his face are taut and his breath comes in harsh pants against her lips. He leans forward, rests his forehead against her own and Clarke's hands drop to circle his waist.

'Clarke. Christ.' he exhales shakily. 'Clarke.'

'Shhh,it's okay.' she whispers soothingly, her hands rising to run across his back.

'Saw you go down. Saw the blood.' he mutters, eyes now dim, lost in a nightmare. 'Thought that was it.'

'I'm here.' she says in a stronger voice, 'Look at me, Bellamy, I'm right here. And so are you.'

His eyes focus on her and Bellamy draws her tighter against him.

'Just…Jesus...don't leave me.' he says and Clarke wonders how many more times can her heart crack until it's rendered useless. 'Please don't ever fucking leave me.'

She won't. As long as she's breathing, she's not leaving. She's being unrealistic, God, how can she make him a promise like that? But -

Clarke shakes her head, one arm tightening on his waist, the other hand coming up to grip his forearm. 'I'd no sooner leave you than you would me.'

Bellamy closes his eyes, slowly draws back but she doesn’t give him time to do more, twining her hand into his hair and pulling his head back down to hers. She kisses Bellamy with everything in her, needing to tell him what her words cannot fully express - that she can never give him up, that he is a part of her soul, that it'll take a hell of a lot more than a gun-wielding psycho to take her away from him. Like that day, all those years ago, the day she had realised that he was in her blood, Bellamy hesitates for a second in her embrace. Then, like that day, his arms band tight around her and he crushes her to him.

He meets the demand of her kiss with his own and it's a gauntlet thrown. There's no gentleness left in their touches, no more finesse, their movements near desperate. Within minutes, hours - seconds - Clarke distantly realises that they are moving then falling into bed. Particles of clothing are either torn off or pushed aside, hands sought flesh and lips sought skin. When Clarke is a step away from falling, she hears Bellamy's hand slam into the wall above their bed, the other dips under her to lift her as he tilts his hips and demands her eyes. And when their eyes lock in the dim light, Bellamy draws from her the words she had not given him earlier. With those words still echoing around them, he follows her down.

****

The world slowly comes back into focus as her body turns languorous.

Muscles still trembling, Clarke gulps down a breath, her heart beat still roaring in her ears. Of their own accord, her hands stroked the wide expense of Bellamy's bare back, his skin cool and slightly slick with sweat, his own breaths coming hard against the skin of her neck where he had buried his face.

With Bellamy's solid body on top of hers, Clarke lifts her head and touches her tongue to his shoulder above her, tasting salt, sun and him. Since coming to the ground, she's tasted some of the best Earth had to offer but the best thing she had ever tasted was Bellamy Blake's skin on her tongue.

God, will this need for him ever subside?

Probably not, Clarke thinks, setting her mouth more firmly against him.

Above her, Bellamy huffs out a laugh against her neck. The fingers of one hand, splayed wide around her upper thigh he's still holding locked around his hip and he gives it a warning squeeze, the calluses on his palm and fingers pleasantly abrasive against her skin.

'Killing me here, princess.' he mutters, voice low and hoarse in her ear.

'Well, we wouldn’t want that, now would we?' she murmurs softy.

His shoulders shake in silent laughter.

Then he turns the tables on her when he draws her earlobe into the wet warmth of his mouth and bites down gently. Without volition, her fingers presses down on his back and her body arches under his.

'No fair.' she hisses in surprise.

Bellamy releases her earlobe and laughs again, the sound filling the room and settling into her chest.

No, this need will never subside.

He shifts up slightly and begins to move onto his side before she tightens her hold on him.

'Clarke, I -' he starts.

'Not yet.' she whispers.

Bellamy tilts his head back to meet her eyes, his own lazy and satisfied.

'Baby, I'm too heavy.' he reminds her gently. 'You'll be finding it hard to breathe soon.'

She doesn't need the reminder as her lungs had already began to protest. It will soon become a choice between the comforting weight of his body and air. It doesn't make her anymore reluctant to lose the warmth of his hard body anchoring her. She huffs and loosens her hold, ignoring his pleased smirk.

Of course he would be pleased, the smug prig.

Bellamy settles onto his side next to her and without hesitation, pulls her closer, dropping a kiss on her lips. She could still taste herself on his tongue and smiles, heady, into his kiss. When he pulls back, she looks up at him, his dark hair, dishevelled from her hands, and falling into eyes still darkened, more black than brown. He shifts up onto an elbow and one of his hands comes up, fingers tangling in the long blonde strands of her hair, pulling them forward to curl on her chest. It has grown down to her hips, a heavy mass of waves.

Clarke snorts out a laugh when his hand drifts and brushes against a ticklish spot on her ribs. She's about to pinch him when his eyes drops and runs down the length of her body, uncovered and bared to him on the sheets of their bed.

'Nearing on ten years,' Bellamy murmurs absently, eyes still on her, a finger tracing down the line of her hip, 'and you still take my breath away.'

Clarke's own breath catches in her throat.

God, this man.

He blinks, his eyes comes up to meet hers and his smile turns into a grin.

'I'd bet you'd still be able to do that another ten years from now.' he says softly.

Clarke swallows.

She wasn't vain and she's confident enough to know she isn't unattractive. But she has lived through three wars, numerous battles and everything Earth has thrown at her. On most days she didn’t give it a second thought. But she was only human and when some pretty thing, unscarred and whole, flutters her long lashes at Bellamy, sometimes she would remember the calluses, the scars on her body, the fact that she had lost feeling in the smallest finger of one hand, the stain on her soul . Not often - but it did happen on occasion. But then Bellamy would look at her like he needed her to breathe, would touch her rough with the need to just _take_ , would say something like he just did, so absently like he was thinking out loud and his actions would drown out any lingering insecurities.

Clarke scrunches her nose to hide her reaction and buries her face in his chest.

Bellamy starts laughing, his arm coming up to hold her against him. 'Jesus, did I finally manage to make Clarke Griffin shy?'

'You're a snot sometimes.' she mutters, her voice muffled, 'A real, immature, idiotic snot.'

'Speaking of snot,' Bellamy chuckles, 'What say we break into Raven and Wick's cabin, kidnap August?'

'I say that after the night we had,' Clarke mutters wryly, 'we're likely to get shot in the ass.'

'You're probably right.' Bellamy sighs. Then he grins, 'Still would be fun though.'

Clark rolls her eyes hard, 'Why can't we just knock on their door like normal people?'

'Because,' Bellamy explains patiently, 'we're not normal people. And where's the fun in just knocking?'

'Still not breaking in.'

'Princess -'

'Nope.'

'Fine.' Bellamy says, scowling.

Clarke laughs and shifts up to brush her lips against his. 'Next time either of the twins has a sleepover with them,' she promises, 'we can break in.'

'Deal.' he says instantly.

They fall into a comfortable silence, like a hundred times before. Then Bellamy shifts back to look at her.

'Hey,' he nudges her shoulder, 'you wanna tell me now what's been going on with you for the last couple of days?'

Clarke freezes.

If she says no, she knows Bellamy will let it go. But she doesn't want to put it off anymore. She pulls out of his arms gently, sits up to look down at him. When he meets her gaze steadily, Clarke falters, the nervousness flooding back in a rush. She laughs softly, brushes her lips against his again and climbs out, hooking his shirt at the end of the bed and shoving her arms into it. It falls to the top of her thighs and Clarke turns around.

'Okay.' Bellamy mutters, coming up on his elbows. 'You're starting to make me nervous.'

'Sorry,' she smiles weakly as she stands beside the bed, arms wrapped around her waist. 'So, uh. Remember how I went to see Mum three days ago?'

He nods slowly, 'I remember.' His brows come down and he cocks his head and realisation dawns on him. 'That's when it started - this weird vibe. Did something happen?'

'Sort of.' she winches, 'No, that's not true, something did happen.'

Bellamy is now moving to swing his legs over the side of the bed, shifting to sit on the edge. 'Clarke, are you sick?'

'No!' she hastens reassure him, 'I would have told you if it was something like that.'

'Yeah, normally I'd say so.' he agrees but his smile is almost hesitant, 'Except I've never seen you this cagey before.'

'At first I was worried that you'd be pissed that I didn't discuss it with you.' she confesses, winching.

He laughs, spreads his hands, 'Hey, princess it's me. Look, if you're about to tell me something that pisses me off, then I'll be pissed and we'll deal with it.' Bellamy shrugs, 'I'll start yelling and if I'm being a dick, you'll tell me to go float myself. Then we'll talk and we figure something out. We always do.' His lips tip up and he leans forward, placing his forearms on his thighs. 'So. Are you about to piss me off?'

Clarke draws in a breath. 'I don't think so.' she slowly says and then she remembers what Raven once told her about Bellamy, _'No one knows him better than you.'_ Trust your instincts. She launches in, 'Mum and I were in the Medical Bay. Nora came in with Leila - remember Leila?'

Bellamy looks confused at the direction of their conversation but nods, 'Ten month old, black hair,' he drops a hand, palm extended about three feet above the floor, 'yea high, sweet tooth.'

'Right. So, I was helping Mum check Leila, and she was sleeping in my arms and I just…I don't know. I was thinking of the twins and how happy Octavia and Lincoln are.' She looks down at her feet, unable to hold Bellamy's eyes which have started to narrow, 'And I don't know, Bellamy, maybe it would nice to have…we're still young, we don't have to start now,' Oh God, she's starting to babble now, 'if you're not ready, that's fine, we can -'

'Clarke,' Bellamy cuts in abruptly, eyes now fixed on her hip, 'did you get your implant removed?'

She was right - he had noticed the incision.

Well. No turning back now.

She stops. Takes a deep breath. Forces a smile. 'Yes.'

His eyes whip from her hip to her face. 'You want a baby, Clarke?'

Bellamy's voice is quiet, low, his face blank and he's gone so completely motionless that Clarke knows the stillness is intentional.

God, has she misjudged him so severely? Has seeing Mirry being held hostage made him wary of the idea of children?

She lifts her chin, holds his gaze. 'With you. Yes.'

'So today?' he asks, getting to his feet slowly and taking those few steps towards her.

His hand cups her elbow and she's tilting her head back to keep eye contact, 'A routine test to confirm that the extraction worked.'

She's swaying on her feet and she doesn't know why.

'And did it?' he's murmuring, so close that she can see the shadow along his jaw line.

How did she get so close?

'Yes.' she whispers, almost against his lips. 'My fertility window is just about to end. I start ovulation in a couple of days.'

Bellamy blinks. Pulls back.

'Clarke, are you telling me that you could be pregnant right now?'

The 'Huh?' almost makes it past her lips when she sees the rumpled bed behind him. Remembers.

Oh.

'Oh.' she mutters, the idea making her a little weak-kneed. Then she gets a hold of herself. 'I don't think so. There's no guarantee - it's probably going to take more than the first try -'

She stops when Bellamy cups her face between his palms and leans in until he is all she could see.

'Clarke, let me have this.' he says fiercely.

Everyone jokes about how he can never say no to her but Clarke wonders if anyone noticed that she has the same problem denying him anything.

'It's possible that I might be. Pregnant.' she whispers.

Pregnant. With Bellamy's child. Oh God, how can she be excited and terrified at the same time?

Then she's not thinking anymore because Bellamy's mouth is on hers and he's kissing her like he's never going to stop.

No, she didn't misjudge him.

'So,' Clarke breathes when he's pulling back, 'does this mean you're open to being a dad in the near future?'

Bellamy's laugh comes out choked. His arms are tight around her and he leans down to shove his face in her neck.

'Nyko.' he states bizarrely.

Clarke stops, thrown. 'Uh. What?'

'Nyko.' Bellamy repeats as he's straightening to look her in the eye, 'His wolfhound birthed. I asked Lincoln and Octavia to pick a pup from the litter and I was going to surprise you with one when they were weaned.' He laughs at the look on her face, 'Yeah. That's the reaction I thought I'd get.' Then his grin gentles. 'It was my way of trying to ease you into the idea of having kids.'

'Do I still get the pup?' she asks, serious.

'Do I look stupid?' Bellamy laughs.

Then his smirk fades and he's moving to the bed, sits as he pulls her to stand between his spread legs.

'Clarke,' he begins, 'about tonight. I didn't handle it well. I'm sorry.'

'I know what I did was reckless.' she murmurs, placing her hands on his shoulders, 'But Bellamy, I can't be sorry for that.'

'I know.' he mutters, mouth twitching in a wry grin. Then he's tilting his head back. 'I forgot. Or maybe I tried to forget. This is our world and just because we have peace now doesn't mean it's guaranteed to last forever. That just because we're finally together doesn't mean every threat out there is magically neutralized. You did what you had to do, what you've always done. This is our life.'

Clarke shifts her fingers through Bellamy's hair, pauses when his words causes a chill through her. 'And this is the world we want to bring a child into.' she says quietly and her eyes snap to his. 'Bellamy, are we crazy?'

He sucks in a breath and his shoulders move in a shrug, almost helplessly. 'God, I hope not. But,' his hands come out to grasp the back of her thighs, strokes them reassuringly, 'we can't let fear stop us from living. And any children we have will have us at their back. They'll learn to thrive in this life because we'll teach them to.'

She stares down at him. Remembers that he had basically began raising Octavia from the time he was seven and the lengths he has gone to for her. Suddenly, they don't seem so crazy anymore.

'And our kids will have the strength of the people who love them to fall back on.' she says quietly.

He nods, drops his head to kiss the skin of her belly, bared by his shirt, 'Our world's dangerous, crazy, yeah. But it has just as much beauty in it.' He squeezes her hips. 'It's filled with people who know the real meaning of family. As fucked up as our lives can get, I wouldn't change it for anything else.'

'You need to start watching your language.' she mutters, pushing at his shoulders. 'I don't want 'fuck' to be the first thing out of my child's mouth.'

Bellamy's laugh fills the cabin but Clarke pulls back again.

'You know there's no guarantee I'll get pregnant, right?' she whispers, 'We shouldn't get our hopes up. It might take months, years, even. I don't even know if I can get -'

'If it doesn’t happen,' he interrupts, 'then we'll deal with it. But for now,' his hold tightens across her hips, 'we’ll try blowing that theory out of the water.'

The glint in his eyes gives her a two second warning.

Clarke's intake of breath is turned into gasping laughter when Bellamy picks her up, twists and dumps her on the bed. Then she's no longer laughing because she too busy kissing him back. She raises her knees and bucks up, taking him by surprise and Bellamy laughs when she rolls them until she's straddling him.

They'll test that theory alright, Clarke thinks, and it's going to the most fun she's had in years.

****

_Five years later_

'One hell of a party.'

Clarke looks up, grins, when Lincoln drops into the seat beside her. He wraps a long arm around her shoulder and her fist tightens in his shirt as he presses a kiss into her hair.

'I'm glad you're home.' she tells him.

'So am I.' he murmurs.

Four years ago, Lincoln and Octavia had announced that their family was leaving Camp Maya. It was not a easy decision to swallow. Clarke thinks the only reason Bellamy took it as well as he did was because he knew what she did. That eventually, one day, they would come home. Over the years, once in a while, the camp would hear snippets of news of Octavia Blake, Lincoln, her husband - great warriors of the Clan Wars - and their children passing through. After years spent travelling, seeing as much as they could of the world, Lincoln, Octavia and the twins had come home.

Camp Maya reached out, took them back into her embrace, and in true Delinquent fashion, threw a party.

Clarke shifts her feet under the heavy weight of a wolfhound, rolls her eyes when Anubis whines in protest before he goes back to chewing on his bone. Across the giant bonfire, lit in the crowded square of the Communal Hall, Octavia is deep in conversation with Jasper, August nodding off to sleep in her arms. Above the crackling of the fire, Emori's husky laugh rises into the air and Murphy's glaring at her without any real heat. To the right, Monroe is passing Lavidia a drink before crossing the low bench to join Jasper and Octavia. Lavidia, a soft spoken woman with a spine of steel and originally of the Floukru, blows her girlfriend a kiss and Monroe grins. Clarke snorts when she sees Monty, sitting on the ground and softly snoring, cup still in his hand, head on Miller's shoulder. Miller pauses in his conversation with Carina and Archer, shoots Monty an exasperated glare but the ex-guard gently re-positions Monty's head on his shoulder so that the sleeping man's neck wouldn't cramp.

Then Raven's silhouette is pausing near a group across the fire, a familiar bundle in her arms. Bellamy and Wick rise from the group and Bellamy reaches for the child but Raven's slapping his hands away. Raven looks up and meets Clarke's eyes and grins. The men follow her as she picks her way past the various bodies convened around the fire. Bellamy stops, nudges Miller with his foot.

'He good?' Bellamy nods at Monty, his voice reaching Clarke in a rumble.

'I can get him to bed.' Wick offers, grinning down at Monty who's now drooling delicately.

Miller glances at Monty, hefting a sigh at the drool on his jacket, 'Nah, he's good here. I'll be heading up soon anyway, I've got him.'

'You're a stronger man than I.' Wick smirks, bending to clap Miller on his unoccupied shoulder, 'When Raven starts drooling, I start -you know what,' he amends hastily at the look Raven shoots him over her shoulder, 'nevermind.'

Beside her, Lincoln clears his throat to disguise the laugh.

Then Raven's standing in front of her, patting the booty of the sleeping blonde five year old girl in her arms.

'Ray-ray knocked out during my riveting story of how I saved her daddy's butt eight years ago.' Raven pouts.

Before Clarke could respond, Bellamy's coming up behind the brunette and saying in a tired voice that clearly states they've had this argument too many times, 'Her name is Dawn, Raven.'

'You can call her Dawn.' Raven shoots back, 'but I get to call her Ray.'

'Just be glad she decided Ray is a better name than Raven Junior.' mutters Wick.

As Bellamy throws up his hands in exasperation and sends Clarke a look that translates to _'She's your best friend - talk to her.'_ , Clarke is biting down the laugh bubbling up her throat. She stands, ignoring Anubis' grumpy huff as he is forced to move away, and Raven transfers the sleeping girl into her arms. They christened her Dawn at birth but Raven's stubbornness pretty much ensured that the name Clarke and Bellamy's daughter answered to was Ray. Clarke sweeps back the blond curls, presses a kiss to Ray's flushed cheek. One chubby hand comes up fist in Clarke's hair, her skin a shade darker than Clarke's own. Then her lashes flutter and Clarke is smiling down into dark brown eyes. Ray pouts sleepily at being woken up before drifting off again.

Then Bellamy's there.

'I'll put her down for the night.' he says quietly.

She gently moves Ray into the cradle of her father's arms, watches as Bellamy leans in to nuzzle her forehead. Her chest constricts in beautiful pain as she sees the soft look on Bellamy's face as he stares down at his daughter. Grins when Ray's, sleepy, plaintive, 'Daddy.' reaches her as Bellamy starts walking away. She watches until he disappears into the Communal Hall where makeshift beds had been laid for the camp's children, Harper and Mike volunteering for babysitting duty for the night.

'You have done well for yourself, Clarke Griffin of the Sky People.' Lincoln murmurs.

She looks around her, thinks of Bellamy and Ray, and smiles. 'I think so too.' she glances at him. 'Someone told me once that I needed to embrace happiness. Took a while, but I did.'

Lincoln drops his head to smile at his feet. 'Indeed you did.'

Across the fire, Octavia rises to her feet. Raven and Wick had joined her conversation with Jasper and Monroe. She's talking to Raven, who's sitting on the ground, leaning against Jasper's legs, Wick's head in her lap. As she turns towards the Communal Hall, she glances over at them, meets Clarke's eyes and stops. The younger woman tilts her chin. Clarke doesn't need words to know what Octavia is saying. She smiles softly, nods at her friend in response. Lincoln rises too, squeezes her hand and goes to his wife. Octavia passes their child to him and they both turn towards the Communal Hall where Sonny is already bedded down for the night.

Then Bellamy is back, pulling her up. He drops down in her seat and tugs her into his lap. His heat at her back, strong arms around her waist, Clarke twists, presses her mouth against his and feels him smile against her lips.

'Ray down?' she asks, turning back.

Bellamy nods against her shoulder. 'Like a log. Using Anubis as a teddy bear.'

Clarke glances down to see that the wolfhound has indeed disappeared.

Traitor.

She chuckles.

She rests her hands over his as she leans back against him. 'Our child is safe.' she whispers to him and Bellamy's hands tighten on her waist. 'We're surrounded by our family.' She turns her head to press a kiss to his throat. 'It's one hell of an ending to our story.'

She can feel Bellamy's laugh against her back.

'Actually,' he murmurs, lips at her ear. 'it's one hell of a beginning.'

Clarke's smiling so wide her cheeks are starting to hurt. She turns her head when his hand comes up, gently nudging her jaw, and Clarke meets Bellamy's kiss halfway.

Her husband's right.

It's one hell of a beginning to their story.


End file.
